Careful what you wish for
by Northoftheroad
Summary: Sometimes, Batman can't help but miss the time when Dick Grayson was the one and only Robin. In a world with magical imps, he should have known better.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't a dark and stormy night – which was a shame, because weather like that would have complemented Batman's mood perfectly.

The Dark Knight was presently standing on top of one of the highest buildings in Gotham city's East End, cape slowly billowing in the wind while he was staring out over a city that seemed to have picked the worst time to calm down to an ordinary big city instead of a simmering cesspool of violence and crime. Two hours and all he had managed to do was stop a break-in and scare away a potential car-thief. The regular citizen was no doubt content, but Batman had been looking forward to working off some frustration on hapless criminals when he left the Batcave a few hours before.

When had his life become like a pathetic soap opera, with endless juggling of complicated relationships, anyway? Much as he cared for his boys, sometimes he couldn't help but miss the time when there had been just one of them. More to the point, a time when the one and only Robin had been a boy who listened to Batman – and generally did as he was told. Not a young man with strong opinions of his own, regularly falling out with his mentor, and the big brother to three more Robins with equally firm views on life in general and crime fighting in particular.

Not that Batman would say it out loud, but the period before Robin became a legacy had been a much simpler time. A happier time, in a way, with less responsibilities and fewer regrets.

He glared in the general direction of the neighbouring town of Blüdhaven and wondered whether the criminal gangs had decided to move shop over there. A lone and young vigilante was, after all, bound to seem an easier adversary than Batman, especially as the latter had several partners as well as a well-stocked armoury at his disposal.

Perhaps a trip with the Batmobile over there would be in order… If he didn't mind getting on the really bad side of Nightwing, that is. He snorted to himself – it probably wouldn't make much difference at the moment.

The situation in the Wayne extended family had been unusually agreeable lately; no-one had used excessive violence towards someone else for several months, and everyone was on speaking terms, even if the words spoken between some members tended to be short, few, and expressed with a certain aggressiveness. Still, the Wayne patriarch took what he could get. With years of anger, conflict and competitiveness in fresh memory, the occasional "fuck off" or "mind your own business" was as close to a functioning family life as he had had for a long time.

However, a disagreement last night between himself and Dick – the most easygoing person in the cape community, towards everyone except his mentor and father figure – had sent the young man back to Blüdhaven. Sulking, in Bruce's opinion, though the words "livid" and "outraged" had been used by other people. If the boy could only see that it was all for his own good…

Batman's mind was mercifully yanked from musing over domestic problems when an unexpected, strong light flashed over the Gotham River, presumably from something going on in the harbour area. Welcoming the new turn of events, Batman took care to put on a scolding face meant to intimidate and took off.

* * *

The light phenomena had long since disappeared when Batman landed on one of the roofs overseeing the harbour. Unwilling to give up on his distraction he decided to search the area to try to identify where the light reflexions had emanated from and swung himself down to the ground level.

Three searched blocks later he came upon a warehouse with lights coming out of the windows on the ground level. Following the adage that forewarned is forearmed, he went from window to window to ascertain what was going on and after a short while he spotted the shadow of a figure on the wall inside the building.

As far as he could make out, the person was alone and not doing anything in particular; the shadow didn't move over the wall, although it was dancing in a peculiar way. It looked rather as if the light source had been an open fire, even though the light coming from the windows was just as cold and steady as could be expected from the electric fittings in a warehouse. When he was certain he could learn no more from the outside, he carefully made his way in, keeping to the shadows as he entered to surprise the person inside.

If it even was a person, Batman amended to himself when he reached the room with the single occupant. The figure seemed to flicker in shape and colour; as if the body couldn't decide whether it belonged to a short, homely woman, a tall, voluptuous redhead, or an old lady with grey hair.

Batman scowled; apparently, there were either some advanced cloaking technology or magic at work. Both options promised more complications than the straightforward fight he was itching for. Still, he needed to contain the situation.

Never one to miss an opportunity to play up the element of drama, he soundlessly stepped out of the shadows and waited for the female figure to notice him. Since she had her back turned towards him and seemed to be humming for herself, he anticipated that it might take a while.

"Hello, dear. I'm glad you could turn up on such short notice," a voice instantly greeted him.

The female presence turned towards him and even though her face was still something of a mist Batman could swear she had a smile on her face. However, seeing him made the figure hesitate and tap a finger to her mouth.

"My, my, you're not what I expected. Or rather, not whom I expected," she remarked.

Batman tensed, and for a second his thoughts went to his family. Was the strange apparition looking for one of them? She could hardly have mistaken him for one of the younger boys, but Jason or Dick… Jason was almost as big as he was, though in his leather jacket and red helmet one had to be hard pressed to confuse them.

"Oh, but I know who you are!", the woman exclaimed, her figure still shifting in appearance. "My fiancée has talked about you – he's very well acquainted with your friend Superman. Or Clark Kent, if you prefer. For a second, I thought you were him, you know. Silly me, your colour choice should make it clear that you're not, shouldn't it?

Very few people knew Superman's secret identity, and Batman prided himself on knowing who all of them were. This strange woman was not on his list. And if she knew about Clark Kent…

As to confirm his worst misgivings the female figure nodded and continued.

"You're Bruce Wayne, of course. Billionaire, vigilante, family man, philanthropist, businessman and what not. I'm so pleased to meet you, dear."

Damn. This was going to be a problem. Batman glared at the woman.

"Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, just a friendly visitor from the fifth dimension."

Once his brain had caught up with his ears, not even Batman's considerable willpower could stop him from groaning. Problem was putting it mildly.

"Mr Mxyzptlk…?"

The woman nodded, contentedly.

"That's him – my fiancé. He always seems to have so much fun when he visits your world – too much fun, I should probably say. He keeps telling me about growling tiger lilies and what not. I decided it was my turn."

She scrutinised the man in grey and black and gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'm not too familiar with this place – I'm sure you can understand, young man. I thought I would take a trip to Metropolis and see what all the fuss was about, but I suppose I took the wrong turn somewhere because this isn't Metropolis, is it? If I remember correctly, Bruce Wayne resides in… Gotham city?"

The woman's apparition had settled down, and she was now a beautiful redhead with a seemingly benevolent disposition. Not unlike some of the regulars on Bruce Wayne's charity functions, if he were honest. But if she was anything like the blasted Mxyzptlk, she was powerful enough to make serious trouble.

"What do you want?"

"Well, dear, I was planning to see the sights and hopefully meet some nice people, but I do believe I need to change my location to fulfil that wish. At least when it comes to the sightseeing part – looking at old crates wasn't exactly on my to-do list."

She gave Batman a thoughtful look, but if she considered adding that the place also suffered from a noticeable lack of nice people, she was too tactful to utter the words.

"Who are you? What are your intentions?"

"My my, I have to say dressing up as a giant – bat, was it? – doesn't seem to do anything to cheer up your disposition, dear," the woman remarked, obviously deciding that politeness had its limits, and looking critically at Batman. "I don't see the attraction of a costume like that myself, but to each her own, I always said. But if it only makes you miserable and doesn't stop you from longing for the good old days, what's the point of this whole set-up?"

Batman didn't feel that the comment deigned an answer, but after a full minute of him glaring and the woman staring expectantly at him with a dazzling smile, he gave up.

"I'm not dressing up – and it's not for fun," he grated.

"But why then, dear?"

"… It's my – work clothes."

"Ooh, I see. But wouldn't something with a little less risk of getting stuck in the door be more convenient…? Wearing such a long cloak seems to be inviting accidents, and that large piece of equipment you have on your belt must surely be a nuisance when you try to sit down… Doesn't those hooks get stuck everywhere? It really looks awfully uncomfortable, dear."

"It's worked well enough for me," he snapped, quickly losing his patience.

Some of his Robins might enjoy bantering with criminals, but with few exceptions, Batman preferred a strong and silent image. But somehow, he didn't think that declaring 'I am the night' would do him much good against this particular adversary.

The woman made a humming noise and continued to stare thoughtfully at Batman.

"I'm Miss Gsptlsnz, by the way. Just a friendly visitor from the neighbouring dimension, as I said. Mxyzptlk has told me so much about this place, and I don't mind telling you, sometimes I feel bad for poor Superman, what with all the pranks that rascal Mxyzptlk has pulled on him."

"Then you should…"

"I thought I ought to call on him and perhaps do him a favour or two, you know, to make up for all his trouble," the woman continued, not bothering that Batman tried to get a word in. "But here I am, and here you are, Superman's very good friend. I think – yes, I think I should start with doing you a favour. He will appreciate that, won't he?"

Batman startled; he had personal experience with Mxyzptlk, as well as with another meddling imp, besides all the tales he had heard from Clark. A favour from the imp's girlfriend couldn't spell anything but disaster; heavy on the dis, as Dick had been fond of saying when he was younger.

"No!" he exclaimed, in a voice that was more Bruce Wayne than Batman. The unwanted guest's appearance, so much like a certain type of woman found in the Gotham upper-class circles, made the part of him used to handle well-meaning but befuddled women take over. "That's very kind of you, but please don't. I'm perfectly content and don't need your help. Superman will be most grateful if you could return home and keep your fiancée occupied with… anything, really. That is the only favour he would ask, I assure you."

"Nonsense, my dear fellow; no trouble at all," said Miss Gsptlsnz heartily.

Oh yes, she would fit right in at a Wayne charity function, Batman thought with an involuntary shudder. Insisting on making large donations, trying to pinch Damian's cheek and setting Dick up with a date; the success rate was generally the same although their preferred method of deflection was starkly different.

"I can clearly see you are not happy and that you keep regretting old mistakes, and we can't have that, can we? Happiness is what everything is all about, isn't it? Now, there was a time when you were happier, weren't you…"

Clark never told me the bloody imp could read minds, Batman cursed to himself. He took a deep breath and prepared to put his foot down, with a scowl that could rival Damian's on a bad day.

"Stop this foolishness, at once! The only favour Superman and I want from you is that you return to your home!"

The imp – impess? – was sadly unimpressed by the Batman's glare.

"But it is the least I can do. And I'm all for giving people a second chance, you know. Relax, dear, this will not hurt at all…"

Batman tried to avert his glance and shield himself with his heavy cape, but suddenly he was surrounded by a shimmering light that permeated everything – the cape, his eyelids, his very head. It felt like an explosion of fiery light inside his head, and then he lost consciousness.

* * *

 _Disclaimer: DC owns all of the Bat-characters. Good for them. Otherwise, a lot would be different from what it is today._

 _DC canon is hopelessly messed up and changes every time you turn a page, but this is supposed to be, kind of, set in Rebirth. I've been trying to write a story that could, basically, be issue (insert any number).5 of the current Batman run._

 _I'm not sure what has officially happened in the past of the Rebirth continuity (I bet DC and the writers don't know either...) but in this story, I'm working under the assumption that the characters' backstories are basically as they were pre-Flashpoint (as long as it's not blatantly opposed to current canon) and almost every Batfamily story ever told has probably happened._

 _Miss Gsptlsnz is a canon character from DC comics, and her appearance has varied over the years. Check out my Tumblr to see her different looks._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	2. Chapter 2

Batman opened his eyes and found himself standing on a roof overseeing Robinson park in central Gotham. It was still night, and the changes in temperature and wind indicated that some time had passed since his encounter with the imp in the harbour warehouse. He swayed on his feet for a moment, unsettled after the experience and with a throbbing headache.

He half closed his eyes and took deep, slow breaths to battle the ache. It didn't help much, and he started to massage his temples while he continued his breathing exercise.

The sound of light steps and a flash of red and green and yellow told him that he had been joined by his younger partner – who was definitely not supposed to be out in the Gotham night. Batman didn't even look up to express his dissatisfaction.

"Robin, didn't I tell you to stay home and study tonight!"

"… No, last I heard you told me to make sure nothing was going on in the harbour area," Robin replied, a note of surprise in his voice.

And the voice – god, the voice was all wrong. Batman forced himself to open his eyes to take in something besides his pounding head – and stared at the lithe figure of a very young Dick Grayson.

He blinked and shook his head in a vain effort to get his eyes to see what he wanted them to see, but the boy in front of him continued to be Dick Grayson. Complete with pixie boots and short, scaly pants ("it's a leotard, Batman!"), rather than the expected Damian Wayne in sensible – if green – boots and a covering kevlar costume.

"… Dick?"

Robin's eyes grew wide.

"Woah, woah, are you all right, Batman? What happened? Why didn't you call me if something turned up?"

Batman took a good look at the boy. Still very young, but not in his first year as Robin; the scar on his forehead from the boy's run-in with Two-Face was visible under his bangs. The yellow utility belt, on the other hand, was an early model; he had not yet reached his third year as Robin.

Robin cocked his head in front of Batman's continuing stare.

"What's wrong?"

Batman tore his eyes from Robin to look out over Gotham and realised that the city had changed too. Definitely pre-quake and then some – he could even see the lights from the old cash register building. The one that had been torn down when Dick was still Robin but had moved to Hudson for his – regrettably – short stint at the university.

This can't be happening, he thought angrily. The imp must have made him hallucinate, or put him to sleep and made him dream of his youth... He couldn't possibly have been transported to a Gotham more than ten years ago. Could she somehow be cloaking the real Gotham — the Gotham of his time – and be projecting images from his memory?

"Batman... perhaps we should go home."

Batman ignored the boy and scrutinised his own suit, from cowl to boots. The colour was not as dark as when he had put it on this evening, and it felt lighter than it should be; less kevlar and more ordinary fabric, dating the costume to the same era as when he had actually allowed children to fight in short sleeves and even shorter trouser legs.

He felt a small hand take a firm grip on his right wrist and tug. The boy was apparently unsettled by his odd behaviour. Batman couldn't blame him; he was feeling quite shaken himself.

"…Yes Robin, let's get back to the Batmobile. I do feel a bit out of sorts…"

* * *

Of course, the Batmobile was of an older design; if he was indeed dreaming or hallucinating, he was certainly going all in. Not only was it substantially less armored than the one he had driven from the Batcave a few hours ago, it was one of the open models; it briefly crossed his mind to wonder why he had thought that Batman in a cab was a good idea, but it certainly wasn't his biggest headache at the moment.

Luckily the car responded automatically to his presence, thus sparing Batman the indignity of having to fumble around his suit for a key, but he did have to think a while before he remembered how to start the car. This particular model had been standing in the Batcave for many years as one of many symbols of a lost era.

Dick was unusually silent during the drive but kept fidgeting with his uniform and glancing at Batman, who took in as much of the city on his way home as he could. The trip yielded plenty of evidence that Gotham city was not the same as when he had left for his evening patrol but from a time concurrent with Dick and the older Batsuit.

Batman was grateful for the boy's silence. He had a vague feeling that he should feel uneasy because when they were younger, a silent but awake Dick Grayson on the way home from patrol was a sign that something was probably troubling the boy. However, he had had several years to get used to more quiet Robins, and he needed space to think. Could the bloody imp really have transported him back to his own past? Or was he still in the warehouse in East End, unconscious but dreaming?

But there was no getting around that everything felt perfectly real; from the steering wheel in his hands and the slight tremble of the car to his still pounding headache. And when they reached the Batcave, the air was crisp and slightly humid, sounds bounced off the walls just as they had always done, and he could feel the familiar draught from the cave system.

He needed to ascertain where he was and what was going on, Batman decided, and for that, he had to access the computer. Too bad he changed all passwords regularly, and he couldn't remember what it was at this particular time – or even knew when "now" was. Dick was already worried, he was not going to ask the boy what date and year it was. But there might be another way…

"Robin, I have shown you how to change the password to the computer, have I not? It's important to update regularly to keep your data safe."

"Yes, Batman."

"Then please sit down and change it, I want to confirm that you know how to do it."

Luckily, the boy didn't seem to find anything suspicious about the demand; the joy of getting an assignment and being given a chance to prove his progress overshadowed the unusual request. Or perhaps he had been asked to do it before; Batman couldn't remember when he first had checked the boy's learning progress in this way.

While Robin sat down by the computer console and logged in to perform his task, Batman removed his cape and cowl and took up position behind the boy. He tried to subtly study his own reflection in one of the unlit screens, but it was far too blurred to give a clear picture of what he looked like. He would like nothing better than to rush into the changing area and find a mirror but forced himself to stay behind the boy as if his focus was entirely on checking that he was doing everything right.

After a short while, the sound of hurried steps from the staircase signalled that his butler, friend and father-figure had noticed that his boys had returned. Alfred was no doubt worried that their early return meant that something had happened.

As to confirm Bruce's thinking, Alfred started talking as soon as he set foot on the cave floor.

"I'm sorry I haven't yet prepared your customary repaste, sir. You've arrived home earlier than usual. Is something amiss?"

Seeing Alfred was another reminder of the strangeness of the situation. The older man had more and darker hair and fewer lines in his face than his future self, he moved swifter and had a twinkle in his eyes that was seldom seen in Bruce's time. Members of his household had been on death's door, and passed it, too many times not to put a permanent mark on the surrogate grandfather of the family.

It wasn't until Alfred repeated "Sir?" that Bruce realised that he had been staring.

"Sorry Alfred. Nothing much has happened," he lied. "It was a slow night, and I got a bit of a headache, we decided to cut the patrol short."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Do you want your usual tea and sandwich, or would you prefer something else?"

"That'll be fine, Alfred. Dick will have his meal in the kitchen; you can bring me something when he's ready for bed."

Immediately, Bruce had two bright blue eyes staring unhappily at him.

"What? It's still early; we're usually out much later than this. I wanted to train on the trapeze while you write the report."

"You need to take the chance to go to bed early, for once… chum," Bruce retorted, throwing in the old nick-name after a brief hesitation.

If felt strange to say it, but still right somehow. He had used it so sparingly for years now, only on those occasions when they had a light and teasing conversation going and he didn't have to fear to trigger a reaction about "I'm not a kid anymore, Bruce!". But Dick – his Dick – should feel safe in his maturity now; Bruce decided it was time to start using the affectionate word more frequently when he came back home. His oldest would just have to get used to that fathers had certain privileges, and treating adult children as kids was one of them.

"But you've got a headache, Bruce. You're the one who should go to bed early."

"Nice try, kiddo. I'm going to take advantage of our early night by getting through some tedious paperwork, and you're going to go to bed."

Robin crossed his arms and met Batman's eyes steadily.

"... Just tell me how me going to bed will help with your headache."

Bruce forced himself to take a deep breath – Dick certainly hadn't been any less stubborn as a child. In his own time he would probably have brusquely, and in very few words, ordered his protegé to leave. In this time, he was more likely to smile at the boy's efforts.

"Dick. I'll take something for my headache, but it would help if I can work in peace and quiet for a while, all right? You know I don't like your training on the trapeze by yourself – I promise you can get up there tomorrow."

The boy gave him a searching look and jutted his lower lip out in a pout, but relented.

"Right Bruce… Don't stay up too long, I'll see you tomorrow!" he said before jumping out of the chair and heading away to change out of his uniform.

As soon as Robin and Alfred had left the cave, Batman brought up his latest reports on the computer. What he hoped to find was some sign that he was dreaming or imagining being back in time; if not, he at least needed to find out where – or rather, when – he was.

As much as he still wanted to cling to the hope that he was imagining things, he could find no evidence contradicting that he was, indeed, in his own history. He recognised everything that he read, and nothing seemed to have taken place in the wrong time or place.

Their last major case had been about a week ago. Veteran reporter Larry Spade had been fatally wounded only hours away from his last story, exposing a gang who had tricked and murdered to collect on insurances. Batman and Robin had helped to make sure that the story was printed before the reporter succumbed to his injuries.

Such a long time ago – Bruce could hardly recall the man's face any longer, but once he had been a friend. He couldn't even remember if he had been to the funeral.

When Alfred came down with a light meal, Bruce pretended to look at some cold case notes, only to go back to his recent reports as soon as he was left alone again. He needed to know what cases he was working with at the moment and try to remember what might happen in the near future.

Batman spent the following hours looking through his case-notes, trying to recall anything he could about what would happen and at the same time wake up his memory of who he was at this time. He was used to playing the part of Batman, Brucie the playboy philanthropist and Mr Wayne of Wayne Enterprises – but now he would have to put up an act even at home with his most trusted allies.

Finally, he logged out, too tired to continue staring at the computer screen, but he hesitated on his way to the staircase. The strange situation had left him restless, and he had yet to reacquaint himself with the Batcave of this period.

He walked around slowly, taking note of what was there but in reality mostly noticing what was missing. How could he have imagined that the cave that he had spent a lifetime setting up could feel so… wrong. The computer was too small and lacked most of the software and hardware he was used to relying on. The cave was sadly under-equipped when it came to vehicles and weapons, and just about everything else. Just imagine, he was still using batarangs with lines more often than grappling hook guns, since the grapple guns of the period were far too bulky to carry along for everyday use.

The dinosaur and the giant penny were in place, but the collection of trophies seemed heartbreakingly small, and the only animal life in the cave was the bats… God, he could never have dreamed that there would be a time when he would miss the sound of a cow ruminating and shifting in a bed of straw.

And his partners… There were no rows of glass cases with suits to remind him of his past and of that he was not alone in his fight. Dick was in the manor, hopefully sleeping in his room across the corridor from Bruce's own by now, and the two middle boys were no doubt somewhere in Gotham, still unaware of what it meant to be a vigilante. But Damian wasn't even born yet. What would his new situation mean for his youngest… Would he be born, and would he be genetically the same?

Bruce took a deep breath and determinedly pushed away all thoughts of the partners he was used to working with. It was too painful to think about the fact that they weren't close, that none of his quarrelsome boys would come by to fill the cave with talk or laughter or angry outbursts.

To keep his brain from returning to the hole in his life where his four Robins should be Bruce busied himself with going over what he had learned during the hours in front of the Batcomputer. It was summer, Dick was on break from school and went out as Robin most nights of the week. He himself wasn't very actively involved in the running of Wayne Enterprises – luckily, since it meant less need to divide his attention. To his great relief, he was not in a relationship with anyone in particular but Vicki Vale was occasionally trying to prove that he was Batman – her first try had involved luminous powder on his right hand – and he tended to let Catwoman slip between his fingers as long as she didn't get away with the loot.

From time to time, Batman would work in partnership with Superman and the Justice League was newly formed. Robin had started to spend time with the other sidekicks – or younger partners, as the kids preferred to be called. Soon they would all be teenagers, and the first version of the Teen Titans would form; down the road was friendship, adventures, injuries, love and death for generations of young heroes.

He couldn't remember what was likely to happen the next few days, but at least he knew his priorities. Keep Dick safe, and change as little as possible until he could get home.

Unfortunately, he foresaw that this would lead to several conflicts of interest down the road. For one thing, the original Robin suit was far too vulnerable and all his experience from the last decade screamed at him to build a complete body armour for the boy. But that would not only start an argument with Dick; a heavier Robin suit would also change the boy's movements and might have unforeseen consequences.

Perhaps he could start out small – long sleeves and pants, and more durable materials would at least do something to shield the boy.

The problem was that Bruce was no doubt changing things already – he was a different man than when he was younger, and he couldn't remember and repeat what he had done in every detail. For all he knew, this night should have ended with the pair of them stopping a murder.

But no matter what happened, he thought grimly on the way to his bed; he must not lose track of his most crucial task: to find the blasted imp and make her revoke the time-trip.

* * *

 _Referencing:_

 _Batman Makes a Deadline. Writer Don Cameron, in Batman # 19._

 _The Scoop of the Century. Writer Bill Finger, in Batman # 49._


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce flinched when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, for the umpteenth time since he the night before had found himself back in time and in his own, considerably younger body. He couldn't get used to seeing himself with smooth skin around the eyes, hardly any worry-lines etched into the face, and minus quite a few scars.

The mirror in the changing room, after Dick had had his promised time on the trapeze and Bruce had worked out, showed the same unsettling picture as all the other mirrors – a stranger looking back at him.

The thought of how wrong everything was forced Bruce to fight down a surge of anger. He didn't belong here, in a time where he didn't know how he was supposed to act and without the network of associates he had built over the past fifteen years. But he needed to keep his head cool and act as if nothing was wrong, and he closed his eyes to avoid the reflection of a young Bruce Wayne while he forced himself to relax.

"Are you going on a hot date, Bruce?" Dick's voice interrupted his reveries.

"…?"

"You're looking at yourself in mirrors a lot more than usual. I wondered why, is all."

Bruce couldn't find a good answer to that and decided to treat it like a joke. He took a deep breath to get control over his voice and mask the lingering anger when he replied.

"No such luck, chum, at least not as far as I know. What I do know, though, is that you're going to spend time studying in after lunch."

"Studying what?"

"… Whatever you're working on at the moment. Don't tell me you've finished all your assignments?"

"Are you kidding me? You've given me books on chemistry, criminology, physics, psychology and math that are straight out of the university bookshelves… And that's only this month. But what exactly do you want me to study?"

"… Either one will do, kiddo…"

"… As long as I'm out of your hair for the afternoon, I take it."

Dick had him there; Bruce had to admit to himself – he did want more time with his old reports to get up to date. He also wanted to use the computer to start looking for the imp so he could make her revoke the spell, or whatever it was she had done with him. All hopes that he was somehow dreaming or hallucinating had abandoned him when he woke up this morning, distinctly remembering the confused dreams he had truly had during the night.

"I do my homework down here at the computer, and you do your homework up in your room. Look at the bright side – everything will be a breeze once school starts again."

Dick shrugged, apparently in a good mood and teasing more than putting up a fight now that he had been permitted to spend time up in the air.

"Fair enough, I guess – as long as you don't go out on patrol without me this evening. Unless you're hunting for Catwoman; in that case, I'd rather take the other side of town and leave the two of you alone. At least that way, you won't have me looking for clues somewhere where there are no clues to be found."

Dear god, Bruce thought, surely I didn't let him go by himself as far away as another part of the town at this age, did I? I obviously let him out of my sight yesterday night, but that was only a few blocks away. I wouldn't let him go far away, would I? How do I keep tabs on him? Do I have enough trackers in his suit?

"Enough cheekiness, young man," he said, trying for the right kind of amused growl. "Get ready for lunch."

* * *

Batman – or at least Bruce Wayne – had been very properly brought up and that had included being admonished about the use of swear words; cursing was a sign that the offending party had a poor grasp of the English language, he had been told back in the days. Otherwise, he might very well have been cursing under his breath while driving the Batmobile around Gotham's shadier quarters in the evening.

He desperately wanted to look for a way to get hold of a certain female imp who was probably not even in this time, but keeping up the pretence that he was his own younger self took more time than he had expected. Apart from his regular tasks as a vigilante and a playboy, he had to read up on the current situation and remind himself of which people he knew at this time. Not even with Dick studying in his room for a few hours had he managed to start looking for the imp seriously, and before he knew it, it was time for their routine patrol.

The evening had so far been quiet, and he was toying with the idea of cutting patrol short under some pretext, to be able to spend the time working in the cave. He looked at Robin to evaluate how much of a row he could expect if he turned back to the Batcave.

The boy was half asleep, listening to the radio. For a short moment, Batman forgot about the imbecile imp and being trapped in his past and his lips curled in a slight smile. It was hard to imagine that the small, drowsy boy would grow up to be the heart and soul of the superhero community. Not to mention that he would become the greatest heartthrob – Batman could probably fill the cave with people who had pined over either Dick Grayson or Nightwing over the years. An alarming number of them were people he wouldn't permit within a mile of the boy if he had anything to say about it.

Robin was sleepy enough that Batman could be certain that he wouldn't put up a fight if they returned home, as long as he promised he wouldn't go out on his own. He was just about to turn the car around and head back when the radio station stopped the music for a news flash.

"The infamous criminal the Riddler has left a message for the Batman on the electronic billboard on 140 Moldoff Avenue. With any luck, Batman and Robin will go there to read it in person, so if you're up for some nocturnal bat-watching, folks, hurry over to Moldoff Avenue. You might get lucky and spot the caped crusaders!"

Batman almost sighed – so much for finding time to look for magical creatures.

"Did you hear, Batman? Next to the right is the shortest way," said Robin; the prospect of riddle-solving had chased away all signs of sleepiness.

"Hmm," Batman grunted, in what he thought was an affirmative way. However, judging from the surprised look he got from Robin, his grunt had been less eloquent than he had imagined.

Right, this was a time when he quite often put his thoughts into actual words, and Robin wasn't fluent in Bat-grunts yet. He was a real chatterbox, compared to his first few years as a brooding, solitary crimefighter, or the time after the nasty breakup with Dick and the death of Jason. The supposedly golden age – that's why the imp had sent him here, after all, he thought with bitter sarcasm.

He still opted to keep quiet until they reached the address and spotted the message that was spelt out over the facade of one of the buildings.

"The Riddler challenges Batman to a game of wits! The following puzzle is a clue to the crime I'll commit tonight. Can you solve it?" Robin read out aloud.

The message changed and gave the duo clues to three words. Batman closed his eyes for a moment, hastily scanning through his memories to find the right case. The Riddler wasn't usually a murderer, so at least it was likely that no lives were at stake. And anyway, although it seemed familiar, he couldn't straight away remember what was going to happen.

"All right, there's nothing else to it, we'll accept the challenge," he said, without making any indication of leaving the car. "A five-letter word for a water utensil, the first letter is B – that would be basin."

"And the six-letter word for a public way beginning with S must be street," Robin added.

"Seven-letter word for a formal dinner starting with B… A banquet," Batman continued. "Basin Street Banquet. … There is a big civic charity banquet being held in a Basin Street Hotel tonight."

This was why he always read the gossip pages in the papers, even though most of the snippets bored him to death; it was essential for Batman to know what was going on in Gotham. He still had a nagging feeling that there was something wrong with the conclusion, but it seemed like the right answer and something that the Riddler might do.

"That was easy enough," Robin said. "I'll bet the Riddler didn't think we'd solve his puzzle so quickly. Let's get over there and put a stop to his plans."

A quick drive later, they rushed into the banquet where Gotham city's mayor was just about to start her speech. Batman knew they were at the wrong place as soon as he stepped inside the building; everyone was far too cheerful for any criminal to have put in an appearance.

"Why, Batman, is anything the matter," the mayor asked, concerned, as all the heads in the hall turned to stare at the crimefighting duo.

"We're following a lead from the Riddler, but it was apparently a red herring," Batman answered.

"Huh, what could the message mean then," Robin murmured.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a police officer came rushing in, frantically calling out the latest development.

"Mayor, a water main has burst! It's flooded The First Bank nearby!"

"A bank flooded. A bank is – wet," Batman said, thoughtfully. "That's what the Riddler really meant."

"But the bank is close, come on, Batman, we can still stop him," Robin urged.

"Hmm..." Batman agreed, quickly adding a "let's go" for the benefit of his partner, and the pair rushed off.

The dash to the car and the short trip to the bank gave Batman the pause he needed for his memories to fall into place. Now he knew what the Riddler was up to and how he was planning to escape from the bank. If his memory served him, the chase had originally involved several more riddles and him and Robin locked into a glass labyrinth.

Batman's first instinct was to take the opportunity to save time and pick the Riddler up straight away, and he calculated the quickest way to do that. But doubt assailed him, and he eased his foot from the accelerator; was it a mistake to take a shortcut, just because he knew how? What could change just because he and Robin didn't do everything like the last time? On the other hand, he had no guarantee things would play out exactly as they had even if he tried; the smallest detail could change the course of history.

He quickly went over everything the could remember of the case once more before he decided that it was safe to skip straight to the end of the chase. That would gain him several hours when he could work at finding the imp instead of having to hunt down the Riddler and his ludicrous puzzles...

Batman pushed down his foot on the accelerator again and drove the Batmobile past the bank, ignoring a group of policemen who stared after the car, shouting and making gestures.

"What are you doing, Batman?" Robin protested. "Why aren't we stopping to help?"

"If the Riddler flooded the bank, he's in the vault now, and he's likely to escape down into the sewers. We'll go straight down there and pick him up."

Robin cocked his head and chewed on his lip.

"You sound awfully certain, Batman…"

You bet I am, chum; I remember us standing there with long noses and looking at the open hatch, Batman thought wryly. Unable to state the true motivation he simply replied:

"Sometimes you have to trust a hunch, Robin. At least as long as it's based on logic and sound reasoning."

"… All right. I do hope you're right, though, we'd look like real tools if we left the police stranded and don't get anything in our net to show for it…"

"We'll soon see," Batman stated, stopping the Batmobile close to a manhole.

Gotham had changed a lot both above and under ground in the more than ten years that had passed, but luckily the sewer network had always been pretty straightforward, and Batman knew how to get under the First Bank to wait for the Riddler.

Robin was unusually quiet on the way. Granted, with slippery stone under your feet, your nostrils filled with the stench of decomposing garbage, and the prospect of falling into slowly flowing sewage, anyone would concentrate on staying on your two feet rather than making small talk, but Batman had a feeling the youngster was brooding over whether they had made the right decision.

There was no way for him to reassure the boy without giving away that he knew what was going to happen, so Batman walked on in silence, hoping that they wouldn't arrive too late to the drainage from the bank vault. True, he remembered how they were to go after the Riddler even if they failed to pick him up the here, but he needed a reasonable explanation of how he arrived at his conclusions before they could act on them.

It turned out that both their worries were needless. With perfect timing, they had barely spotted the drain from the bank vault when the hatch opened, and water poured out. After the first downpour, the Riddler let himself drop down into the sewer, dressed in a diver's suit and helmet.

Batman was quick to throw a batarang with a line around the green-clad man; this had to be the easiest catch he'd made of one of the big ones in year's, he thought.

"Holy first try, Batman," Robin exclaimed, while Batman dragged the flailing criminal up to the sidewalk.

He loosened the rope so that the Riddler could remove his diving helmet.

"You weren't supposed to catch on so fast!" the disgruntled criminal protested, his face flushing and his eyes narrowing. "I've been putting so much work into the next few riddles… A whole giant jigsaw puzzle! And when am I next going to get the chance to use a riddle with a giant cornstalk…"

Batman couldn't help but smile at the memory of the props the Riddler was muttering about. This was why he sometimes thought of this era as a happier time – the nights had not always been marked by mayhem and crazy villains.

More detective work, less brutality and fighting. Even the Joker would occasionally commit crimes that actually were more about plotting to get money than downright crazy violence.

"That was really neat, Batman," said Robin, teeth flashing in a smile. "Gosh, I would never have been able to think so many steps ahead."

When had Dick last looked at him as if he had hung the moon, back in his own time? It shouldn't feel so nice, considering he had essentially cheated – but Batman had to admit, it did.

"Come on, chum. Let's leave this present, all gift-wrapped, to the police and call it a night."

* * *

 _Inspired by: The Ridder, written by Bill Finger, Detective Comics # 140. If you're curious about the clues and traps Batman and Robin avoided, look at my Tumbler._


	4. Chapter 4

Going out to keep Gotham and its inhabitants safe had been the cornerstone of the Batman's existence since the start – and the goal long before that. Before he started to build a family, it had been the only thing that really felt worth-while, and even with a full house at home patrolling the city was at the heart of what he was trying to do.

It was…uncommon, to say the least, Batman reflected where he was standing overlooking Gotham from the roof of the Police headquarter, to feel as if he was wasting valuable time being here, instead of looking for ways to get away from this world.

Another day had passed with hardly any time to work on finding the imp. To his dismay, Bruce Wayne had been booked to appear at an early meeting at the Wayne Enterprises and to open a new art exhibition at lunchtime. As soon as he got back to Wayne Manor, prepared to get some work done, he had received an urgent call from the police commissioner, asking him to come to the headquarter. So here he was, preparing to enter the police building together with Robin instead of hunting for Miss Gsptlsnz.

He tore his gaze away from the city and turned it towards Robin who was standing still with his eyes set on Batman, obviously waiting for the go-ahead. He nodded as a signal that they should get down.

"Batman," commissioner Gordon greeted when the duo entered his office through their customary window.

It was his first encounter with Jim Gordon since he was transported back in time. Seeing him was like having one more nail put in his coffin – another face that was far too young and just served to confirm that he was displaced in time. He opened his mouth to return the greeting but shut it again – he didn't call the man Jim in this time, did he?

"… Commissioner. What can we do for you?"

Gordon took a letter from his desk and held it out.

"I'm not sure, Batman, but I'm willing to wager one of your usual crowd wants to play catch with you."

Batman took the envelope and definitely did not sigh at the prospect of having to waste time on solving puzzles. While it was preferable to the blood and gore of far too many crime scenes in his own time, he would much rather be searching for his way home.

Still, he had to do his job while he was here, and he opened the envelope. Robin looked over his elbow to see the letter while Batman slowly read it out loud.

"Batman, every industry has its practical jokes… And I shall industriously employ them for my crime. My first clue is… 'anchor watch'!"

"Uh-oh! The Joker's on the loose again… and challenging you to another duel of wits", the boy said as he spotted the drawing of a Joker's head at the end of the letter.

The Joker… Batman had dreaded coming across a case with the clown in this time. He knew the criminal had not yet crossed the line to vicious mass murder but knowing what he did of the future he would never be able to treat Joker as just another criminal with a gimmick.

Batman resolutely pushed away any thoughts about the future to concentrate on the clue. Robin was looking expectantly at him; the boy was good with riddles and puzzles, but he was still very young, and his vocabulary and knowledge didn't match Batman's.

"A joke a sailor usually play on a new hand is to tell him to stand 'anchor watch'!" he explained. "We'll go to the harbour."

"Right, Batman," the boy agreed, waved at the commissioner and took a flying leap out through the window. Batman stayed behind, torn between his usual comfort in the presence of one of his oldest friends and resentment that it wasn't really his Jim Gordon. A pang of regret shot through him at the thought of how much pain the future held for the man – Barbara being shot by the Joker was only one of the things that would happen in the years to come.

But if he were to stand by his decision to change as little as possible, for fear of returning to entirely different place when he got back to his own time, he had to stay out of it. Fury surged through him at his powerlessness to rectify the wrongs that lay ahead, and he reminded himself that if he really got stuck in this time, he would have plenty of time to re-evaluate his position before anything serious happened. Jason's death and the shooting of Barbara were years ahead – none of them was even close to the vigilante business at this time.

He took a deep breath to keep his feelings from leaking out in his voice.

"Commissioner," he said, nodding before he followed Robin out through the window.

Minutes later, the Batmobile was speeding away from the police headquarter.

"There's harbour around most of Gotham, Batman. Are we going to patrol all around the city or do you have any idea where the Joker might strike?"

Batman had more than an idea – he had a memory of an inflated rubber whale stuck on the anchor of a freighter somewhere in Port Adams, planted by the Joker so that he could rob a liner nearby while crew and passengers were staring at the spectacle. But how could he explain that he knew where they needed to be?

"See if you can find information about cruise liners presently in Gotham, Robin. I would guess the Joker intends to rob a liner if he is setting up his caper in the harbour."

Robin nodded and started fiddling with the controls to what computer capacity they had in the Batmobile. Woefully inadequate, but probably enough to find a list of the ships that were anchoring in Gotham at the moment and give Batman an excuse to head over to Port Adams.

As he expected, the boy soon read him a list of half a dozen cruiser ships in Gotham. Since most of them were at Port Adams, Batman could turn the car and head in that direction without arousing any difficult questions.

Things played him well in hand because once the Batmobile reached their destination, they soon spotted a liner with people crowding the rail, engrossed in something that took place over the water.

"Let's get up there," Batman ordered as he parked the car.

The duo swiftly rushed over to the quayside, threw their batarangs with attached lines up on the cruise ship and started the ascent. They worked their way up to the highest point of the ship, and from there they could make out the figure of the Joker, dressed in a purple suit and a wide-brimmed, white hat, surreptitiously making his way over the main deck.

Batman felt a surge of apprehension at the sight of the criminal and once again reminded himself that this was not the same man that had killed Jason and dozens of others. He took a deep breath and gave Robin a short nod, and the duo jumped down behind the Joker; Robin with an extra flip on the way down.

"Batman and Robin! I would have been disappointed if you hadn't figured out my clue!" the clown exclaimed, bolting for the staircase leading down from the upper deck.

Batman had a feeling that he ought to make a pun when he rushed at the Joker and knocked him down; he vaguely recalled saying something along the line of "You may be the Joker… but I'm the King of Clubs!" the first time around. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; he was no longer the man who regularly exchanged witty remarks with criminals, as if the vigilante business was nothing but a youthful adventure, and especially not when the adversary was the Joker.

The criminal was agile and could take a hit; he had to give him that. The clown was already on his feet and once more heading for the staircase. Robin threw himself after the man to stop him from getting away.

"Joker, your house of cards is tumbling!" the boy cried out as he tackled the man.

Batman's heart skipped a beat; the impetuous youth had disregarded that he was too close to the edge and his move sent both him and the Joker tumbling down to the lower deck. He didn't stop to look what happened before he threw himself over the side, controlling his descent with the help of the staircase.

The sight of Robin, lying at the Joker's feet, was enough to ignite the powder keg that had churned inside Batman since he first opened the letter and saw the criminal's symbol. Before his eyes flashed the sight of Jason, killed in an explosion; of the face of Damian staring up from a serving platter; of Barbara, lying still in a hospital bed; of Dick, bleeding profusely from a wound…

"Ha, ha! Our little game isn't over yet, Batman!" the clown cackled, starting to run away. Batman knew that he hadn't caught the Joker here and now, but all thoughts of letting history repeat itself paled in the face of the rage he felt staring into the face of the soon-to-be mass murderer.

He didn't waste a moment to check up on Robin before he tore into the Joker and threw him to the deck. The man in purple twisted on the ground and gave Batman a taunting grin; just like the grin he had when he shot Dick bad enough that Batman fired him as Robin.

Batman felt as if the real world faded away in the background, and he imagined the Joker grinning just like that, swinging a crowbar over the defenceless form of Jason. He could stop it all, here and now. He could save Jason and all the other people that the Joker would maim or murder in his obsession with Batman and his associates.

No rational thoughts could penetrate the burning anger inside him, and he threw punch after punch at the lying man. He was vaguely aware that someone was calling his name but the sound drowned in a roar inside his head. It wasn't until he felt small hands pulling on his arm that he took notice of anything outside himself and the bloodied face of the man lying beneath him.

Perception of the outside world slowly permeated the raging anger, and he fell still, with his left hand gripping the clown's clothes and his right arm lifted for a new hit. Robin was standing beside him, tugging frantically on his right arm and calling out to him.

"Batman! Please stop, Batman!"

God, he had almost crossed that line – the line he promised himself he would never cross, that he dared not cross, that he would do anything in his power to prevent anyone close to him from crossing. He slowly lowered his raised fist and came to his feet, dragging the Joker with him.

"Call the police, Robin," he ordered in a rasping voice.

* * *

Robin stayed silent for a long time during the ride home, but eventually, he turned to Batman.

"What happened?"

Batman didn't answer. He didn't want to think about what had occurred. It reminded him too much of how he had been the time after Jason's death; brutal towards the criminals he hunted and lashing out against people close to him. Not even the second Robin's miraculous resurrection and eventual comeback into Bruce's life could wash away the lingering pain.

But Dick, bless him, would try to get a stone to talk about its feelings if it had accidentally hurt someone who tripped over it.

"I've never seen you like this. Are you all right?"

Batman's mouth turned into an even thinner line when he thought about how true Robin's observation was – at this time, the few instances when he had lost control in a way that at least came close to what had just happened was when Dick had been too gravely wounded to see or hear anything.

"And it's not like the Joker did anything out of the ordinary," Robin persisted. "You know he didn't even strike me, right; I made a clumsy landing because I was tangled up with him in the fall and I hit my head when I landed."

Batman's eye flickered to the boy for a moment, and something cold gripped his gut. By all rights, it should still be years until Dick looked at him like this – not scared or angry, but with a hint of reprehension at the violence that Batman had unleashed on the Joker.

He needed to give the boy some kind of answer. The irony was that for once in this whole absurd experience, he could actually tell the truth.

"I… can't explain, Robin. I really wish I could, but I can't. The situation must have triggered some memory…"

Robin looked at him silently for a long while, before he diverted his eyes and stared out through the side window.

Batman hardly noticed his surroundings while he drove the car back to the cave. The anger that had been simmering in him the last days had faded and given way to a tired emptiness; as if he had spent all his emotions and all his energy on the outburst against the Joker.

He couldn't even imagine sitting down by the computer console and start mapping out a strategy to locate Miss Gsptlsnz, and he listlessly thought about taking a leisurely evening; falling asleep in the couch with some silly movie in the background, meditating to clear his head, spending the night in his own bed.

And then – well, tomorrow was a new day.

* * *

 _Inspired by The Joker's Practical Jokes, by Bill Finger. Batman # 123. Check out a few panels on my tumbler._


	5. Chapter 5

Breakfast the day after meeting the Joker was a subdued affair. Dick, who typically was the one to keep a conversation going, concentrated on the egg, ham and toast that Alfred served but gave his guardian a few sidelong glances. Only when he had finished eating did he turn to the man.

"Is it all right if I spend the day with of a friend, Bruce? Marjorie and I were planning to see a movie."

"Sure, chum. Remind me where she lives."

"In Somerset, just on the other side of Mooney Bridge. With her father, doctor Davenport."

"Make sure your phone is charged for a full day. Do you want me to drop you off?"

The boy stared down at the tablecloth and shook his head.

"Thanks, but I thought I'd take the bike to her place. We'll catch the bus into Gotham."

Bruce froze for a second, wondering how he could have thought it safe to let his heir – because Dick was already his heir by this time, even if he wasn't adopted – go by himself even in this supposedly less dangerous time. But neither Dick nor Alfred acted as if the boy's request was something out of the ordinary, so he bit down the refusal that wanted to escape his lips.

"…Of course. Be careful… and be back by six!"

Dick nodded and slipped out of the chair. He left the room with a "Bye Alfred, thanks for breakfast!"

"Have a good day, Master Richard," the butler answered, looking after the boy with a slightly furrowed brow before he turned to face his employer.

"Is something wrong, Master Bruce? The young sir doesn't act like his usual self."

Bruce had prepared himself for the question – there was never any doubt that Alfred would notice and ask about the change in atmosphere.

"I lost my patience with the Joker yesterday and hit him quite violently, Alfred. I'm afraid Dick was a bit upset with me. It will do him good to be with kids his own age for a while."

"I see… Considering the level of violence the boy sees on a daily basis one shudders to think what he must have witnessed to upset him," Alfred observed, with a neutral face.

"… It wasn't my proudest moment, Alfred. I have some work to do in the cave; I'll head down. Your breakfast was delicious as always," Bruce said, leaving the room with a nod for goodbye.

He stopped for a moment outside the breakfast room. He hadn't really looked around in the manor since his arrival; being too focused on his life downstairs. Curious in spite of himself, he started to walk around in the corridors, glancing in through various doors.

It didn't take him long to get the sinking feeling that he couldn't have felt more lost if he had been taken to a foreign planet and left there on his own. The manor felt empty and cold, with too many unoccupied rooms and only a few photographs instead of dozens of mementoes of children in the ages from preteens to the mid-twenties.

His eyes fell on the mantelpiece; it looked barren with only two photographs, one of his parents and one with Dick, Alfred and himself. There should be quite a collection there… Damian petting Titus, a young Jason skiing with Dick, Dick and Barbara on their way to a party, Tim, Dick and himself, dressed up for some kind of Wayne Enterprise function – and the most recent one, a rare moment of peace between Damian and Jason. The boys had probably been plotting something towards another family member, he thought with the shadow of a smile, but it made a nice picture nevertheless.

And yet he remembered that at this time, Dick had been enough to make the manor feel like a home for the first time since his parents died.

He was, quite simply, in the right place at the wrong time – because he had enjoyed this time, learning to cooperate with a partner and starting to build a family. But now one boy was not nearly enough to lighten the dark shadows of his past.

Bruce's feet took him to his study, as of their own volition, and he sat down at his desk and stared out of the window. Ought he stop this pretence and tell Dick and Alfred that he was from the future? They had evidently already noticed that he was different and he had a suspicion it would only get more difficult.

But he couldn't stomach the questions and the curiosity that would inevitably follow a revelation that he had lived through fourteen years of their future. It would break Dick's heart if he were to know about their upcoming estrangement; it would have broken his heart too if somebody had told him at this time.

Dick had been ready to strike out on his own, and he had eventually thrived in his new role as Nightwing. He was born to be in the spotlight, after all. But there were so many ways in which Bruce could have supported the boy to spread his wings instead of clumsily kicking him out.

It briefly crossed his mind to wonder what name Dick would have chosen, if Bruce hadn't driven him to Superman for inspiration and comfort. Would he have kept Robin, or would he have put together a new name with "bat" in?

He tried to think of a good name, but soon admitted defeat – however unfortunate the circumstances, Nightwing was a perfect fit for the boy. Young man.

A young man that was part of a family that he wanted to come back to, Bruce reminded himself, but that wasn't going to happen if he were to waste his time instead of putting the work in. He resolutely got up from the chair and went to the grandfather's clock to open the door to the cave.

Dick's absence gave Batman the opportunity to look for Miss Gsptlsnz to his heart's content. He sifted through news reports to look for anything out of the ordinary that could indicate the hand of a playful visitor from the Fifth dimension – she had spoken about growling tiger lilies, after all. He kept an extra eye on everything that had happened to Superman and Clark Kent, hoping that the female imp might decide to pop in on a visit, but nothing stood out.

He found himself regretting that he had never taken the opportunity to bug neither Clark's office nor his flat, although he supposed that the man would have noticed them quickly enough. Besides, it would probably have done him no good because the imp might very well make contact with Superman somewhere outside – if she ever came to this time at all.

He tried to scan for abnormal energy readings all over the world, but it was painfully obvious that he didn't have access to the kind of equipment he was used to. The Batcomputer was still a supercomputer, for this time, and he could get into cameras and retrieve information from thousands of places. But there was no Justice League satellite orbiting Earth that could give him readings from all over the world and the surveillance equipment he hacked into at Nasa, and corresponding authorities in other countries, were far less detailed and sophisticated than he expected.

Dick would make some kind of pun about being blind as a bat; he just knew it.

After several hours of work, Batman – dressed in Bruce Wayne's slacks and polo jumper – sat back in the chair in front of the computer, pinching the bridge of his nose and staring out in the darkness ahead, trying to think of other ways to hunt down the imp. Before he could come up with anything, he was interrupted by the shrill sound of a police whistle.

He groaned – obviously Dick had been tampering with his mobile phone again. The boy loved coming up with new, silly sound effects or music for Bruce's phone signal. Picking it up he saw that the caller was none else than the prankster himself.

"Dick?"

"Hi Bruce – listen, I've found Bugs Conklin. He's wounded and forcing Doctor Davenport to take care of him. He's hiding in a house in Smithville, on 285 Harrison Avenue."

"… What?"

"Got that address, Bruce? Luckily I had my light Robin suit on; I'm going to let him capture me. I'll need the Batman to come through in one piece!"

"You're going to – what!? Are you out of your mind, Dick? You will absolutely not do that – do you hear me? Don't!"

But the other side of the line stayed silent, until the signal that indicated that the call had ended sounded in Bruce's ear. He slowly put the phone down.

"Just like him, always careless of his own safety," he muttered through clenched teeth.

He itched to throw himself in the Batmobile to go to Smithville but knew he should take a few minutes to get his thoughts in order.

First things first, he decided and pressed the button to call Alfred down to the cave. He walked over to change into his Batsuit while he went through everything he knew about the case.

Dick had been talking about a gangster that Batman and Robin were looking for; from what Bruce had read going over his recent reports, the man had managed to get away from them during a fight with his gang only last week.

Dick had mentioned his light Robin suit – a uniform that could be hidden under regular clothes. If the usual Robin uniform of this day, in Batman's opinion, gave a ridiculously low level of protection, this model was hardly anything more than ordinary cloth. And the utility belt was too thin to store almost anything. Including, Batman thought bitterly while he stood before the computer to try and get a fix on the boy, a sufficiently strong transmitter.

He pressed his eyes shut, concentrating on recalling every possible detail about what had happened when he went to the youngster's aid. The gang had indeed captured Robin, thus anticipating Batman's arrival and had set a trap – that he promptly had fallen into.

I was far too eager to rush into things without proper preparations in my youth. No wonder Robin and I were captured and hurt so often, he thought, regretting that this was one habit that Dick had picked up from his younger self and never quite shaken.

"Sir?" Alfred's voice sounded from behind his chair. Batman tensed – he had been too caught up in his thoughts to notice the sound of the butler descending on the staircase. I need to do a lot better, he admonished himself.

"Dick called. Doctor Davenport is in the hands of Bugs Conklin, and Robin was going to let himself get captured. I needs to go to the address Dick gave and sort things out."

"I say… The boy can't even manage to meet a school friend without finding trouble, can he, sir."

Batman was still trying to get a signal from the small tracker in Robin's utility belt, but the screen stayed conspicuously dot-less.

He supposed he should count himself lucky that the mobile phone had been invented, Batman thought acidly; he could get into the cellular network and pinpoint the boy's phone if he needed. But he would have preferred to be able to push five buttons on his computer and get a reading on the virtual map on where the boy was, just as he was used to in his own time. But surely he must have some kind of tracker system in Dick's civilian clothes too, at this time? If he were kidnapped, the kidnapper would get rid of a mobile phone first of all.

He turned to his butler and father figure and barked out a question.

"Alfred, why can't I see where Dick is?"

"… Sir?"

"The transmitter in his light utility belt doesn't have a strong enough signal. Surely he didn't leave home without a decent GPS tracker somewhere? "

"… In his civilian clothes, sir?"

"Yes, dammit! I'm not letting him leave the house without some way of finding him, am I…? I am, aren't I…?"

"I thought you said Master Richard told you where to find him, sir."

"That's beside the point, Alfred! I need to be able to find him, even if he doesn't want to be found."

"You've never broached the subject of tracking Master Richard's civilian clothes, sir."

"Well, I damn well am broaching it now! I fully intend to monitor him round the clock, even if I have to invent new trackers myself!"

"…."

"I'll apologise for my language when I've got Dick safely back home, Alfred."

"…"

"… Do I have to invent miniature trackers to be able to hide them in all of his clothes?"

"Yes, sir."

"He won't like it."

"No, sir."

"Well, it can't be helped, Alfred. He's far too reckless, and I'm never going to be able to convince him otherwise."

"With all due respect, sir, Master Richard is still very young. When you were his age, taking precautions and planning twenty steps ahead were not always in the forefront of your mind, either. I'm sure he will be much more cautious in the future."

Bruce almost snorted at the thought of associating the word cautious with Dick, no matter what age he was. But since he couldn't tell Alfred that no, Dick would never grow out of being reckless with his own life, he merely made a non-committing sound and turned to go to the car.

"I'll go get him, Alfred. I expect we'll be back for dinner."

On the way to Smithville, Batman once more went through all he could remember about the situation. He had… stepped on something inside the house that triggered a trap, hadn't he? He had been knocked out by a heavy piece of wood falling from the ceiling. Robin had been tied up together with Marjorie Davenport but had managed to get out of his ropes with the help of a small section of a hacksaw blade that he had bought in a hardware store before he let himself get caught. The boy had come to Batman's aid in the last second, saving him from being shot by Bugs Conklin.

Well, he wasn't going to repeat that mistake, never mind how determined he was to change as little as possible. Batman parked the car and eyed the house, recalling what had occurred

that day that, in his mind, had happened fourteen years ago. He could see one broken windowpane – that was where Robin had entered – but he had gone in through the front door and sprung the trap.

Looking around the area, Batman decided to get up on the three-story building across the street and make a careful study before barging in. Once he was in place on the roof, armed with a pair of strong binoculars, he had little trouble understanding the layout of the run-down villa that the gang was using for a hideout. Most of the gang members were already behind bars, and he decided he might just as well follow Robin's lead and barge in through a window, quickly disarm Conklin and then take out the rest of the opposition.

He fired the grapple hook gun he had carried with him and threw himself over the street and through a window to the room where the gangster boss was resting, landing on the floor right beside the bed in a cloud of glass shards. To the soundtrack of Robin and Marjorie's relieved calls of "Batman", he swiftly hurled the firearm laying beside Conklin out through the window and turned to face three men that were rushing into the room.

Meeting them heads on the gang members were no match for Batman, and a minute later all that remained of Bugs Conklin's gang were spread across the floor in different stages of unconsciousness. Batman hurried over to release Robin, the girl and her father from their bounds.

"Gosh, Batman, I knew I could count on you!" Robin exclaimed. "You really swept the floor with them."

"Are all of you all right?"

"Thanks to you, Batman," the doctor replied, drawing his daughter in for a tight hug. "Conklin's thugs picked Marjorie up this morning, and he threatened to hurt her unless I treated his injury. We were lucky Dick Grayson came along to meet her; I sent a message with him."

"Hnh," Batman grunted, sending the youngster a reproaching look.

"I pretended it was a prescription – good thing the boy knows his Latin," the doctor said with a small smile.

"I thought Robin would save us when he broke in, but they captured him too," Marjorie added.

Batman looked closer at his protegé and noticed a few drops of blood rolling down his left cheek. He gingerly pushed the boy's bangs away from his forehead and saw an angry, red scratch in the hairline. His lips pressed together to a thin line; he had forgotten that particular little detail. Robin had been hit by a bullet shot by Conklin when he staged his failed rescue attempt.

"Luckily it's only a graze," he heard doctor Davenport say. "But you'd better let him rest for the time being."

"I'm fine," Robin protested.

Batman wanted nothing more than to bring the boy home and give him a lecture on personal safety, but there were things that needed to be done first. He turned to doctor Davenport.

"I will use the phone to call the police. Please help Robin tie the men securely, doctor."

* * *

The day's happenings seemed to have made Robin forget about the upsetting scene with the Joker the day before, and he flashed a wide grin when he turned to his mentor once they were seated in the Batmobile.

"Thanks again for the save, Batman. You were great – those goons didn't stand a chance when you swept in!"

"… Any time, chum. But you shouldn't have let yourself be captured. The sensible thing to do was to wait for me, once you knew I was on my way."

The boy yawned, let his head fall back on the seat and closed his eyes.

"But I had to make sure Marjorie would be safe…"

"Nevertheless. You could easily have ended up with a far more serious injury than a scratch on your forehead."

The boy grinned and turned to Batman.

"Just you wait, when I'm grown up and as big and strong as you, I'll be able to get out of situations like this without having to call you."

Bruce, knowing full well that although adult Dick wasn't short, at 5' 10" he was still nowhere near Bruce's 6' 2''.

"Size has nothing to do with your effectiveness as a fighter, Robin. You know that."

"… But it sure makes it easier if you have some weight behind," the boy sighed.

Perhaps he ought to train Robin differently, Batman thought; when he was young, he hadn't thought about that Dick might grow up with a completely different body type than his own. But the truth was that Dick's physique would make it impossible for him to fight as Bruce did. Jason was much closer to him in that regard, but Dick would always need to rely on speed and agility. And the eskrima sticks worked very well for Nightwing – how come Batman never thought of encouraging Robin to carry tools like that?

If he were stuck here any longer, it might be a good idea to introduce the boy to the Philippine martial art. Unless, of course, the fact that the idea came from Bruce would make Dick reject them when he would need them the most…

He glanced at the youngster; he was resting again, a small smile around his lips showing that he was feeling safe and content in the shadow of the bat. Batman turned his eyes back to the road and took a firmer grip on the steering wheel when he, once more, felt a pang of longing for the grown-up version.

The child beside him might be smart and talented and adorable – not that the word existed in Batman's vocabulary – but he missed the young adult that would question, argue and scowl; challenging Bruce to be better while being a solid rock for him to lean on.

* * *

 _Borrowing from "Damsel in Distress" by Don Cameron, in Batman # 23. You can see a few panels from it on – where else? – my tumbler blog, /blog/northoftheroad_


	6. Chapter 6

Everything hurt. That was the first thing Bruce became conscious of when he slowly drifted awake.

It felt like fighting his way through a thick fog, trying to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. He could tell he wasn't at home in his bed, but he didn't appear to have been taken prisoner, either. He wasn't tied down and, besides the pain, he was fairly comfortable; not as comfortable as in a bed, but he was lying on something with at least a bit of give and a soft surface; presumably a medical cot. The air was cool and slightly damp, and he could hear the sound of familiar voices and the slight echo of a large room. In the medical area of the Batcave, then.

Finally, he managed to open his eyes and saw two colourful figures looking worriedly at him.

"Superman! What are you doing here?"

"I came along right after you took that nasty fall. You're lucky you weren't killed! Feeling okay now?" the Kryptonian answered in his Superman voice – the confident, strong and deep voice that was so different from how he spoke as his mild-mannered alter ego.

Batman stayed silent for a while, letting his thoughts fall into place. During a routine patrol, he had picked up information that someone was breaking into Gotham Research Laboratories and had rushed there together with Robin. The perpetrators were men from a gang that the press had named the Purple Mask Mob, trying to steal platinum that was used in experiments. During the fight, one of the men had grabbed a container with some kind of powder and thrown it in his face. The powder made him cough, and when he followed the gang members out through the window, a coughing fit had caused him to lose his balance and fall to the ground, several floors down.

And now he was resting in a cot in the cave, with his right leg in a plaster cast.

"Okay… Why is my leg in a cast?"

"I set it myself. You broke your leg in that fall," Superman answered.

It certainly hurt enough, or rather all of him did. But he quickly sorted through his memories to find the right case – it did stand out in his memory for a few different reasons, after all – and remembered that there wasn't anything wrong with his leg, apart from scrapes and bruises. His Batsuit wasn't durable enough to completely withstand a long fall down to the tarmac.

"I'm afraid you're going to be out of action for a while," Superman continued, straight-faced.

Well, what do you know; Clark actually can lie without blushing, Batman thought.

Since he remembered what was going on, the question was if he ought to call their bluff. The cast was meant to keep him still for a few days because the powder he had inhaled was a slow-acting poison. According to Superman, the poison would kill him if he didn't rest. Since Robin was convinced no amount of arguing or preaching about common sense could make Batman keep still, Superman had come up with the idea of faking a broken leg.

"Batman, are you all right?" Robin said, standing over his mentor with the frown lines between his eyes just visible behind the mask and obviously wondering about the lack of response.

He needed to make a decision right away – play along, or put a stop to their plans. As far as he could recall no one was going to die if he kept his peace, and Robin would have Superman to protect him, after all; Batman decided he had better let things play out as they originally had.

"I'm fine, Robin. I'm just worried – I don't like being out of commission while the Purple Mask gang is terrorising Gotham." He glanced at Superman. "Robin can't handle them alone."

He wasn't disappointed – the boy scout took his cue nicely.

"He won't be alone. I'll be with him, as your stand-in."

"But you can't be with him all the time. You have your job in Metropolis."

"Luckily, Clark Kent has been assigned to Gotham city, to cover the Purple Mask Mob operations. I'll be working on the Gotham Gazette."

By now Robin was positively beaming, Batman couldn't help but notice. Apparently, the idea of working with Superman was enough to make him forget, at least temporarily, the poison that was ravaging his mentor's body.

He forced himself to relax and unclench his teeth – it's not important, Dick just has a bad case of hero-worship, he reminded himself.

"Meanwhile, you'll have to stay undercover, Batman. If it's known that both you and Bruce Wayne have broken legs, people might connect the coincidence," Superman continued, seemingly oblivious to Batman's abrupt mood changes.

"Hnh."

Robin cocked his head and frowned while Superman raised his eyebrows. Damn, he kept forgetting he was supposed to be more talkative in this period.

"…I'll let my office know I'm on vacation."

This splendid idea earned him another look from Robin, who couldn't quite hide the way the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"… You think they would even miss you…? You're there, like, twice a month…"

Batman sighed internally. How could a mere fourteen years make such a difference in his everyday life even though he lived at the same place, had the same daytime and nighttime jobs, and spent his time with the same people…

"Dick will spread the word that I've left Gotham, too."

Robin shrugged, seemingly willing to attribute Batman's unusual responses to his accident.

"Sure thing, Batman. If you feel up to it, we'd better bring you upstairs. Alfred is preparing something light for you to eat and Superman can help you get up the stairs."

"… I'm perfectly capable of getting up myself!"

The boy rolled his eyes – not that Batman could see through the mask the boy was still wearing, but it was completely obvious.

"You can't even move your right leg, big man, if you didn't notice. The cast goes over the knee."

"Hmh."

"When I hurt my knee last year, you wouldn't let me climb the staircase, remember? You said I would risk upsetting the injury and carried me up as if I were a baby… Think of it as karma!"

Batman almost choked, trying to grunt in indignation and at the same time suppress an amused chuckle.

"I promise I will safeguard your dignity to the best of my ability, Batman," Superman assured him. "Here, let me help you stand up. I'll support you on the way and let you float through the air, if necessary. But let's get you to the changing room first so you can get out of the rest of your uniform."

* * *

Batman was loathed to admit it, but Robin was right about one thing – climbing the staircase with one knee forced into a straight position was nearly impossible. Once he got down to the Batcave the day after his alleged accident, without the help of Superman who was currently spending his day as Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, he sat down in a wheelchair and decided to stay there and use one of the cots for sleeping.

The charade would only last a couple of days, after all; not that he could tell Alfred that when the butler raised an unimpressed eyebrow. However, he was adamant, stressing the importance of that an injured Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be seen while the police knew that Batman had had an accident.

Robin had left with Superman in the afternoon to follow up on information from commissioner Gordon that an armoured car had vanished on one of Gotham's highways. To his great annoyance, Batman had found that even though the boy was in uniform, he was able to monitor the pair's proceedings far less than he wanted to. The Robin suit was equipped with a few trackers – though far less than it was going to have, once Batman had made a complete makeover – but apart from the communication device, he had no means of hearing or seeing what was going on. No bugs, no way of hacking into the comm when it was turned off; it had been a long time since any of his partners had been so far away from Batman's watchful eye.

He was going to have to bring that up with Alfred as soon as possible. But for now, he had an unpleasant feeling of worry that made it difficult to focus on looking for the imp that was behind the whole mess. Never mind that he distinctly remembered that Dick would be in no immediate danger during the following days, or that he was being protected by Superman himself, Batman couldn't shake the nagging worry that something might happen differently this time. All it took was one stray bullet for disaster to strike.

"Enough", he growled to himself, deciding he needed to try another avenue in his search for the imp. Neither the Batcomputer nor any of the supercomputers around the world he had accessed had given him any lead, and he had seen nothing in the news to suggest the presence of a pranking imp on Earth.

He could ask Superman – the man was as close to an authority on imps from the Fifth dimension as one could hope to find, after all, even if he usually went out of his way to get rid of a certain pesky imp and not finding him.

But asking Superman for help would mean being asked to explain why; something he wasn't prepared to do. He could certainly refuse to explain – Clark was a nice enough guy, he wouldn't refuse to help, but he would try to find out the truth one way or another. While Clark might not be the world's greatest detective, he was a smart and experienced investigative reporter with the added bonus of a super-human brain.

And Bruce didn't feel up to answering questions and talking about the future – not to anyone. If he had been sure that Clark could deliver the imp straight away, he might have taken the chance and made sure to get away with some vague answers. But chances were Miss Gsptlsnz would take some time to find, even with the help of Superman.

Luckily, there were options. Earth had other heroes with connections over the cosmos who might be able to help. More to the point, he could try someone who could be relied upon to provide help as one professional to another without feeling the need to get personal about it. Batman turned to the computer and pulled up a communications channel to the Earth's Green Lantern.

He knew who the man in green was under the mask, of course, even though the Justice League hadn't formally shared their secret identities with one another. Former test pilot Hal Jordan, residing in Coast City.

It was actually amazing how bad his fellow leaguers were at hiding their civilian alter egos, Batman reflected while he waited for an answer. Hal Jordan didn't even try to do something about how his vowels betrayed that he was from California, and how the world had failed to recognise Oliver Queen's blond goatee on Green Arrow was beyond him. And then there was Superman, who hid Clark Kent's face in plain sight… That it worked was more a testimony to how incredibly gullible people were than anything else, in Batman's opinion.

"Hiya Bats", Hal Jordan's voice greeted him.

"Green Lantern."

"… Anything in particular on your mind?"

"Yes."

"… Yeah, well, feel free to tell me whenever it's convenient… In the meantime, I've got some hoods to deliver to the police."

"… I'm searching for… an entity from another dimension. As far as I understand, she can take any form she wishes and can alter reality."

Green Lantern whistled on the other end of the communication line.

"Sounds like one dangerous lady."

"I believe she is not inherently malevolent, although given her powers she can be dangerous even if she means no harm. She seems to be able to travel through time; I don't even know if she's in our time at the moment. Can you be of assistance in locating her?"

"Where did you come across her?"

"… I don't believe that is relevant."

"It would help to know where to start, you know."

A fair observation, Batman had to concede. And it wasn't like he hadn't thought out a story to cover up the truth.

"She briefly visited Gotham a few days ago, but I haven't seen her since. I am quite certain she is not in this city. I have been scanning for unusual energy readings, and I've been looking for news reports of unusual occurrences, but I can't find any sign of her."

"All right – what do you want me to do?"

What could he ask Green Lantern to do; that was the question. As soon as he uttered the word Fifth dimension, Hal Jordan would advise him to contact Superman.

"Is there any way your ring can help us look, or even travel, in time and dimensions?"

"Woah, that's a tough one, Bats... To be honest, I don't think it would work. I've been trying to scan the multiverse a few times, but it never got me anywhere. There is a reason the Power ring isn't what can bring us to Earth-Two, after all."

"Hmm."

"Sorry I can't be of any more help. But as long as the lady isn't in our time, she can't make any trouble for you, can she? What's your beef with her, anyway? Did she commit any crime in Gotham?"

Damn right she did, she kidnapped me from my home and family, Batman thought. What he said was:

"… She is powerful enough that we need to keep an eye on her. And I wish to try to gauge her intentions."

"I'll be happy to keep my eyes and ears open for her. But I think I need some pointers what to look for."

Of course he did – Hal Jordan had been chosen as a Green Lantern because of his willpower and courage, not because of his keen mind, Batman thought acidly.

"As I said, I believe she can alter reality. Objects transforming into something else, people or things being transported over the world… Anything that defies the laws of nature might be a sign that she is active."

"Got you… That shouldn't be too hard to spot if she chooses to turn up. I'll keep my eyes open and get back to you if I notice anything."

"… Thank you. Batman out."

Batman reclined heavily in his wheelchair and pinched the bridge of his nose. The call hadn't given him anything new to work with, but at least there was someone else keeping an eye open for the imp. And Green Lantern, in stark contrast to Batman, habitually went all over Earth as well as out in space.

With no tangible results from his search of the imp, the hours felt far too long until he finally heard the faint swoosh that signalled the return of Superman and Robin. By the look of them, nothing had gone wrong during the night.

Robin was visibly excited and had laughter in his eyes when Superman put him down beside Batman. Superman smiled indulgently as the boy eagerly started telling his mentor about the evening.

"It's been great, Batman! We followed the car's route, and Superman found it underground with his x-ray vision. The gang had built a trap door in the highway down to the abandoned subway track, Superman took us down there, and when the bandits tried to get away on a draisine, he tore up the rails and sent them flying. He bound them up with the rails and lifted the vehicle up to the road again while I called the police…"

When the boy finally stopped talking – seemingly more due to lack of air than lack of anything more to say – Superman gave him another smile before his expression turned serious.

"Sure, we jailed them… But they won't talk! If only we had a clue to where the rest of the mob is hiding out!"

Batman couldn't help himself – he felt a surge of relief that Superman wasn't much of a detective. Just as he couldn't help the sinking feeling he got when Robin, still looking admiringly at Superman, said:

"You'll find them, Superman. You can do anything!"

Superman smiled fondly in reply, and the boy turned to Batman again.

"Gosh, you should've seen how Superman stopped those crooks, Batman… He's terrific! And golly… is it exciting flying through the air with him!"

"Yes… It must have been a new kind of experience for you," Batman said, slowly.

He couldn't help wondering if Robin found it dull to work with Batman, compared with Superman; after all, he didn't have any powers.

No, he told himself firmly, it's just that he loves to fly. He'll always be fascinated by metas who can fly, whether it's Starfire or Superman or Wonder Woman's invisible plane. But Dick can't rely on powers; he needs to learn how to think, and be a detective, and work with what he has. This is as good an opportunity as any to remind him of that and to teach him what he needs to know to be an effective crime-fighter.

Batman looked over at a small collection of glass cases with trophies situated beside the Batcomputer. In this time, his younger self had for some reason cleared out some of the older artefacts – reminders of cases before he took Dick in.

He made a gesture towards a table with things he meant to get rid off.

"I'd better make room for trophies of adventures by Superman and Robin. I've meant to toss out some of these old dust collectors anyhow."

He rolled his wheelchair closer to the glass cabinets and opened one of them.

"Now this stand could hold a small trophy… like a wrist-watch. The next time you capture a Purple Mask bandit, bring his wrist-watch. Remember!"

"What…" said Robin, staring at him with his eyebrows raised well above his mask.

"Uh… Okay… If that's what you want, Batman," said Superman.

Batman smiled slightly at the bewilderment of the stand-in dynamic duo. Never mind that he couldn't fly, there was still a lot you could do from a chair in a cave.

* * *

 _"_ _The New Team of Superman and Robin", written by Bill Finger. World's Finest Comics # 75. Check out a few panels on /blog/northoftheroad (but only if you're prepared for spoilers for how that story ends.)_

 _By the way, did you ever read Dennis O'Neil's (with artist Neal Adams) run on Green Lantern and Green Arrow? One of the best superhero comics ever, and I say this even though Dick Grayson is not in one single panel;-)_


	7. Chapter 7

He really needed to be careful with what he wished for; that was Batman's conclusion during the second day he was needlessly confined to a wheelchair in the Batcave. He had wanted time alone to work on finding Miss Gsptlsnz. Now that he had it, he found that he was less thrilled than he should be.

His methods of investigation proved as inefficient in locating the imp as any other day, and he considered his options. Green Lantern had promised to keep an eye open, but Batman had a nagging feeling that he wouldn't find the answer in this time. What he needed was someone who could help him get in contact over the confines of time and dimension.

There was one obvious candidate: Zatanna, one of the most powerful magicians in the world. She was not at the peak of her power in this time but still one of few people who could be of help when it came to manipulating time and space.

The drawback was that Zatanna would, quite possibly, get personal. They had known each other since youth, their relationship oscillating between trusted friends and allies with profound personal differences. There had been times when he didn't trust her judgement at all, but he had never doubted her abilities. And anyway, it wasn't like he had a lot of brilliant options to choose from.

The magician was not a member of the fledgeling Justice League, but she was, after all, only a phone call away. Batman glanced at the time; it was daytime, and she would probably not be performing, at least unless she was on another continent. He pushed a few buttons to make the call on the computer.

Once again he was in luck – she picked up the phone by the third signal.

"Bruce!"

"Zatanna… Am I calling at a bad time?"

"No no, I'm just preparing for the night's show, I've got plenty of time. How are you, I haven't heard from you in ages! Are you enjoying working together with the Justice League?"

"… It serves a purpose."

Zatanna's soft laughter echoed in the cave.

"I suppose that's Bruce-speak for yes."

"Hmm."

"What's the matter? You sound distraught."

"I have a problem that falls outside my competence. I'm searching for an entity from another dimension, who might not even be in this time right now.

"… Wow. It might be in another dimension and another time… That's one tall order, Bruce."

"I am aware. Do you have any idea how I can track her down?"

"Her?"

"She had a female form when I encountered her in Gotham, some days ago. She can probably change appearance at will."

"You don't normally get involved with inter-dimensional entities unless you have to. What did it – she – do?"

"...Nothing substantial. She seemed too interested in Gotham for my liking, and I would like to know how to keep her under observation."

Zatanna fell silent for a while – it was entirely possible that she didn't buy his vague explanation and he prepared to elaborate with more meaningless information. But luckily, the magician seemed willing to overlook his evasion and asked:

"Do you have anything I can track her by?"

"Such as…?"

"A business card would be nice, but a piece of clothing or some equipment she left behind would do. I could try with a location spell."

"I don't have any physical object from her, no."

"And she can be anywhere at any time… Without a starting point, I doubt there is anything I can do, Bruce – I'm sorry."

"… If I had a possible timeframe, is there a way to make contact?"

"You think you know a time and place she will visit?"

"Possibly. Is there a way?"

"To do what, exactly? I'm afraid I can't just send you back or forward in time unless we're talking about a few minutes."

Fourteen years might be pushing it, Batman thought wryly.

He thought hard. What if he could send a message to himself in the future, or to Superman – but what good would that do? If he were stuck in this time, a new timeline would be formed, where the imp might not end up in that warehouse in Gotham… Ugh, he knew there was a reason he preferred to busy himself with street-level Gotham crimes.

"Bruce?"

He sighed.

"Just thinking, Zee. I will have to get back to you if I work out a viable plan."

"Any time, Bruce! Tell that cute kid of yours hi from me."

"I think Dick would oppose to your words, but I will convey the gist of your message…"

Once more, Zatanna's laughter came through the loudspeaker.

"If someone had told me when we were younger that Bruce Wayne would be a doting single father, I would have laughed my head off."

Batman was one second from agreeing, but stopped himself – in this time, he was not likely to accept the concept of being a father to Dick, was he? So many times when he had said "my ward" or "like a son to me", but never actually "my son". By the time he was mature enough to accept that he indeed was a father, in everything except the legal terminology, Dick was almost an adult.

"I'm not a father, Zee. Dick is my ward."

There was a short silence – funny enough, Bruce could picture exactly how Zatanna was glancing to the sky with an exasperated look on her face.

"You may hide behind whatever word you want, Bruce. Take care of him – and yourself!"

The call ended and left Batman staring out over the cave. Another avenue tried that turned out to be a probable dead end, leaving him with far too much time to think about other things. All the ways the day could end in disaster was just one of them.

He didn't remember all the details from this particular case – it was, after all, a long time ago and he had worked on hundreds of cases since then. But one moment that stood out vividly in his memory was the sight of two of the Purple Mask bandits opening fire at Robin.

The boy had spent most of the day as Dick Grayson, accompanying Clark Kent, under the pretence that his guardian Bruce Wayne knew the reporter and wanted Dick to get some work experience during the summer break.

Batman knew that the pair was on their way to Gotham city harbour at the moment, to look into an explosion. The detonation had gone off on the dock just as a luxury liner had pulled in – no doubt planted as a diversion. Robin had called him on the comm line when they left Gotham Gazette to give him an update.

The harbour was where the shooting was going to take place – Batman could remember seeing it through a fortuitously placed security camera and started sifting through all the camera feeds from the area to try to find the right one.

He knew exactly what he was looking for and it didn't take him long to find the camera that covered the upper deck of the luxury liner in question. The bandits were climbing up on the deck when Batman found the right camera.

He could feel his heart rate go up and his mouth go dry, waiting for Superman and Robin to descend. I shouldn't have let him go, he thought miserably, just because I remember that Clark shielded him doesn't mean it will happen like that this time. How can I justify continuing to let him out in that flimsy costume, knowing how much better protected he would be in covering body armour.

He was momentarily distracted from his pondering by the arrival of Superman and Robin on the scene. Precisely as he remembered, the bandits' first response was to take aim at the boy, and he couldn't stop himself from shouting at the tv monitor.

"Robin, duck!"

When Superman blocked the bullets with his body, he took a deep breath, relieved that history was indeed repeating itself.

Some of the gang were trying to get away on the small boat that they had used to board the liner, and Batman could see Robin pointing it out to Superman. The Kryptonian, who could easily have stopped the boat in about half a dozen different ways, seemingly wanted the let the boy feel he was making a contribution and threw the young acrobat after the boat.

Batman hadn't remembered that part of the mission, and he growled at the monitor.

"Damn it, Clark, what if you'd missed! What if he hurt himself in the landing… They could have shot him... I'll never let you near him again if he's hurt," he all but snarled.

His worries were unfounded, of course – within minutes the fight was over, and soon after Superman and Robin delivered the gang members to the GCPD.

Batman was still following the proceedings with the help of security cameras, and again he had a vivid memory of his past self, at this exact moment. He had thought about what a great team Superman and Robin made, a team that could make everyone forget about Batman and Robin. Wondering if that would ever happen…

But it never would, he reminded himself. With the advantage of hindsight, he knew that Batman and Robin was a partnership that couldn't even be broken by death. They had become larger than two persons – larger than life – and turned into a legacy, for better or worse.

Bruce and Dick, on the other hand… Not that their partnership had been replaced by Clark and Dick, but it had certainly been broken in all kind of different ways. And it was Clark that Dick turned to when he was looking for a new purpose and identity, choosing a name from Kryptonian mythology.

He felt a flicker of irritation, but immediately admonished himself; he should be grateful that the boy had Superman to cover his back when his guardian behaved like a jerk and kicked him out.

Of all the lousy decisions in a life full of lousy decisions, that might very well have been his worst – and the one that had the most far-reaching consequences. He pushed Dick away to keep control of the separation that was inevitable when the boy was growing up. And then he took Jason in because he missed Dick – it had been unfair on both boys.

Making Jason feel like a substitute that needed to measure up to the first Robin, and Dick feel as if he were easily replaced. At least he could have admitted why he acted the way he did. He should have found a better way – the boys could have had a better relationship from the start. He knew that Dick had reached out to Jason, to give him someone to talk to when Bruce was too much to handle, but they could have been much closer if he had dealt with the situation like a functioning adult. Perhaps, somehow, it might even have prevented the death of Jason – and kept Tim safely out of the Robin business altogether.

If he were indeed forced to do it all over again… He needed to do better, somehow, he promised himself.

Batman's brooding was interrupted by the arrival of his young partner and his understudy, in the customary swoosh of air. Superman immediately produced a wrist-watch.

"Here's that trophy you wanted, Batman."

"Hmm… Good!"

Batman rolled his wheelchair over to the glass cabinets, put the watch in one of the empty ones ant the, after a short pause to think, opened another one to remove an old shoe. "It's about time I got rid of this too. Tell you what… Suppose you replace this with a shoe from the very next Purple Mask bandit you capture!"

"Why… Of course... Anything you say, Batman," said Superman, looking as perplexed as the night before.

Robin too looked slightly confused by the request, but evidently decided there were more important things to talk about.

"You should have seen it, Batman, the gang didn't stand a chance! And Superman gave me a boost so I could overtake the speedboat when the gang tried to escape. Gosh, it was great, it was almost like flying for real – I've never done such a long jump, even on the trapeze."

Batman managed the stiffest of smiles – he loves flying, he reminded himself, don't spoil his fun, he just loves flying…

"You look tired, Robin. Perhaps you'd better go to bed, you need to be ready for a new round with the Purple Mask gang tomorrow," Superman suggested.

The boy turned abruptly from Batman, and he looked wide-eyed at Superman, apparently not taking the words at face value. However, he must have decided there was a good enough reason behind because after he nodded his head after a short while.

"All right, I guess…"

When Robin had disappeared into the changing area, Superman turned to Batman with a concerned look on his face.

"Are you all right there, Bruce? I couldn't help but hear your heart race for a while."

"I don't need a babysitter, Clark! You should concentrate on the case – and on keeping Robin safe."

"I believe I've been doing just that," Superman replied, mildly. "There's not a scratch on him. I suppose you've found some way of seeing what happened? We were in quite a public area, after all."

"Hnh."

"Did I do something in particular to earn your ire? Or are you just grumpy because you are left out of the action?"

"…"

"I can out-wait you, you know."

Years of experience told Batman that he would not get rid of Superman without at least saying a few words. But that didn't mean he had to talk about everything that was bothering him.

"… I feel helpless. I can't even see what's happening unless there happens to be a security camera nearby."

"And you hate it… That's perfectly understandable. But you know my first priority is to keep Dick safe, don't you? I'd rather let the whole gang escape than let him come to harm."

"Hmh."

Superman sighed.

"All right, as long as there's not something worse going on in that head of yours than frustration, I suppose I might just as well leave you alone. Try to get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow when I pick Dick up."

Batman grunted something that a benevolent listener might interpret as "good night", and Superman disappeared in a gust of air that was slightly more forceful than usual. Batman stared out over the dark cave and reasoned with himself.

It doesn't matter how enamoured Dick is of Superman; he would never choose Clark over me… He wouldn't do it when he was a kid, and he won't do it as an adult. Dick would do anything for me; he would do far more than I'm ever prepared to ask. He's showed it over and over again; he'd die for me, even though that would kill me more assuredly than any bullet or energy beam. I've got no reason begrudging him his admiration for Superman…

Bruce made a face at himself and surrendered.

"Let's call a spade a spade," he muttered. "Alfred was right when he said I didn't learn the meaning of jealousy until I saw Dick with Clark."

* * *

 _Want to see some panels of Bruce saying/thinking that Dick is like a son to him? Look no further than blog/northoftheroad_


	8. Chapter 8

It really was getting tedious, being left behind in the cave. Batman had been deeply tempted to end the charade when Superman came to fetch Robin in the morning. But he knew that this would be the last day, and as soon as he got that shoe, he could show the overgrown boy scout and his starry-eyed admirer how to unravel a mystery from a wheelchair by using your brains.

If he weren't so frustrated, he would probably be enjoying himself – using only his intellect and the clues he was handed to solve the case. In his own time, gadgets, technology and violent showdowns took far too much space. It might have been relaxing, if he hadn't been prone to worry when he didn't know what was going on – and if it hadn't been so maddening to be out of control.

To make matters worse, this day he was left entirely in the dark. He didn't remember how the encounter between Superman and Robin and the bandits would go down and he couldn't find any cameras that picked up the action.

Luckily for Batman's peace of mind, the Purple Mask Mob had gone to work early this day, and he was picking at the lunch Alfred had brought him when the familiar draught from Superman's landing tugged at his cape.

"There's the trophy you ordered… Although I don't see why…" Superman said, presenting him with a brown leather shoe.

"It's just what I wanted, Superman."

"Did you see the blimp, Batman?" Robin put in, eagerly. "I told Superman that if you had been there, you would have brought it down in the Batplane, but he fashioned a harpoon out of a girder and hauled it in instead. It was terrific! Did you see?"

"Hnh… No, I didn't."

"The bandits lifted a man who was carrying a payroll with the blimp – talk about highflying plans! But Superman spotted them from the office at the Gazette; we went up to the roof, and he hauled them in from there."

Typical – the roof of a newspaper building and no cameras to catch Superman tackling a blimp, Batman mused.

"But we still aren't any closer to closing down the gang," Superman added. "They refuse to talk."

"Why don't the two of you go up and see Alfred about something to eat for lunch, and we'll talk over the case when you're back."

"But, Batman.."¨

"No buts, chum. You need your food, and you're going to thank me afterwards – you're always hungry by the time Alfred puts something on the table."

"… I guess," Robin conceded.

He had to admit, to have the boy actually listening and doing as he was told when it came to things outside working in the field was a nice change from what Bruce had been used to the last few years. And even though he knew that adult Dick was perfectly capable of cooking and taking care of himself, he also knew that the young man had picked up some of his mentor's bad habits – forgetting to eat and rest when he was focused on a case among them. And Dick didn't have a butler to make sure that he indeed did eat something else than cereal and energy drinks even in the middle of a case.

Once the pair had disappeared up to the manor, Batman lost no time examining the shoe. By the time Superman and Robin were back again, he intended to have all the necessary information to close down the Purple Mask gang. All he would require was a cue to break the news that the case was cracked.

Finding what he was looking for was a simple enough task, and his mind drifted on to more pressing matters; should he take the opportunity to ask Superman for help with finding Miss Gsptlsnz? He hadn't heard from either Green Lantern or Zatanna, and he didn't have any other ideas about how to find the imp through time.

But Bruce still didn't feel up to answering questions about his experiences from the future, and there would be questions if he brought up the subject with Clark Kent. The man made a living out of asking questions, after all; it was as much a part of his way of life as saving cats from trees…

The sound of steps on the staircase made Batman abandon his musings; Clark and Dick were on their way down after lunch. When he could make out their voices, he heard that they were talking about today's events – or rather, Dick was cheerfully talking about it, and Clark was uttering the occasional kind word in reply.

"If only we knew where the rest of the Purple Mask Mob was hiding. We could wrap up that bunch at once!" Superman said once the pair had reached Batman.

"If we only had some clue… some lead," Robin agreed.

Batman wasn't one to turn down an opening when it was served to him on a silver platter.

"Is that's all that's bothering you? The gang is using a dog kennel for a hideout. It's located on the south bank of Pine Hill."

He got all the attention he could have asked for. The substitute Dynamic Duo stared at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. He picked up the watch and started explaining.

"The dust in that wrist-watch showed minute traces of various kinds of dog hairs… and the shoe had traces of red clay and pine needles… It adds up to that one place!"

"So that's why you wanted those 'trophies', to analyse the dust for a clue!" Robin exclaimed.

"How do you like that, Robin? He solved our case for us… at home, in a wheelchair!"

"Of course he did – he's Batman, after all!" Robin laughed and looked at his mentor with the same open admiration that he had shown Superman the last few days.

"Indeed he is… Come on, Robin, let's wrap this up. Batman, perhaps you'd as well call the police and ask them to come to the kennel, to save us some time."

"Hmh."

So far, so good, Batman reasoned when the pair disappeared. All that remained for him was to manage a suitably surprised look when they came back and removed the cast on his leg.

Again, the boy's admiration felt a little too good, considering he had known exactly what to do.

Never mind; I did crack the case the first time, he reminded himself. Sitting right in that wheelchair.

He looked down at the chair; his good mood quickly vanished when he thought about what was going to happen some years from now – when the Joker would shoot Barbara Gordon and put her in one.

She wasn't even Batgirl yet – if he were still here when the time came, should he shut her down immediately? But if he did, that might, in the end, put Robin and himself in more danger, because if he were honest, there had been times when she had saved their lives. On the other hand, this time he would know what to expect.

Or should he, after all, do as Jason wanted and do something permanent about the Joker… Batman kept putting the crazed clown behind bars time and time again, just as surely as the man would escape and commit new crimes. It seemed it didn't matter much effort he put into securing the Joker's cell in Arkham, the man would eventually get out on the street. And in a few years time, there would be nothing prankish about any of his crimes; so many lives would be lost.

But I can't kill him, he thought desperately. I wouldn't be any better than him if I kill, and how soon would I think that I would keep Gotham safer by killing someone else, and then another one… There's no going back.

* * *

Taking care of the rest of the Purple Mask gang must have been an easy enough affair because the substitute Dynamic Duo was soon back. The gang members were in the custody of the police, and the case could officially be declared solved.

After their short report, Superman and Robin exchanged a glance. Superman nodded and turned to Batman.

"Well, Batman, enough time has elapsed! It's safe to remove the cast on your leg!"

He knew what was expected of him and protested dutifully.

"Hey! A broken leg can't heal in a few days!"

"But that's the point, Batman – your leg is not broken."

Batman put his acting skills to good use when he let his voice express all the confusion he had felt over the situation once, a long time ago.

"... What do you mean?"

"Remember when you first tackled the Purple Mask Mob and you inhaled a powder that made you cough?" Superman started to explain and went over how he and Robin had decided to trick Batman that he had a broken leg to keep him still.

"Well, Robin, it looks like our partnership is over! It was swell working beside you!"

"The same goes for me, Superman. I'll never forget it!"

Superman vanished in his usual gush of air and Batman looked at Robin who was waiving his goodbyes long after Superman had left the cave. Never mind that he knew what the boy would say, he felt he had to ask. Just to keep things the way he remembered them as far as he could, he told himself.

"Hhn… Wouldn't you rather be working as a team with Superman? It must have been more exciting than working with me."

"Oh, it was fun for a while… A new novelty…" Robin said, looking after Superman before he turned to Batman with that big, open smile that felt as if it could light up the entire Batcave. "But it isn't the same as working with you, Batman! Golly, you taught me all I know. We'll always be a team."

Batman stared down in the earnest face of the first Boy wonder and had to call on his acting skills once more to put a smile on his face. They still hade some good years to go, but then that team of Batman and the first Robin would be broken beyond repair. Thankfully, Batman and Nightwing would eventually become a new formidable team, but a combination of growing pains and emotional incompetence would put them both, and consequently the people around them, through so much unnecessary distress.

But he did smile and jokingly feinted a hit on the boy's cheek.

"Of course we will! Nobody will ever see the end of Batman and Robin!"

* * *

 _Yes, it is canon that Dick knows how to cook! He once took care of Tim and the Manor without Alfred (and Bruce, who would hardly be any help at all…) There is a blog post with evidence at /blog/northoftheroad_


	9. Chapter 9

It was a relief to get out of the wheelchair and the cave and not have to pretend to believe he had a broken leg. What was it Dick had told him once, after filling in as Batman… "The job could be fun, if you let it."

Making his way around the rooftops of Gotham City, Batman could admit to himself that even if he would never use the word fun, it felt good to be in action again. His and Robin's teamwork flowed as smoothly as ever; without even having to talk about it they took slightly different paths, looking around in opposite directions to cover as much ground as possible while they passed through the city.

It was Robin who spotted an ongoing break-in at an exclusive jewellery store a few blocks away. Batman made a quick calculation – the fastest way would be to take the car, parked around the corner.

"To the Batmobile," he said.

Robin didn't hesitate to make his way down in his own unique fashion; leaping off the roof, using a flagpole some ten stories down to make a flip, bouncing off the opposing wall and finally doing a triple somersault to control his landing. Batman's mood lightened for a moment, looking at the boy's flips. Somehow, he never felt so downright bland and boring as when he was traversing the rooftops with Dick Grayson, no matter his age.

The playful acrobatics made him think about Tim – would he have realised that Dick was Robin by this time? Or was there still be time to impress upon Dick the importance of never doing a quadruple in the field, because it was far too recognisable a move when you were one of a handful of people in the world who could perform it.

Right, who was he kidding, Bruce thought with a snort while he made his way down. Dick always thought on his feet; if he believed that a quadruple was the best move for a situation, he would do it, no matter how many warnings Batman gave him. Besides, hadn't Tim said he'd seen Robin do a quadruple quite early in his career? It might very well be too late already, even if he would have wanted to change the future.

Reaching the Batmobile, where Robin was already waiting, he let go of all thoughts about his third Robin to concentrate on the ongoing robbery. The Batmobile swiftly took them to the store, and they jumped out of the car and into the store.

"Mind if I go through," Robin quipped when he jumped up and used a lamp to swing himself at the man closest at hand.

Bruce and Dick had stopped far too many break-ins or robberies during their years as the Dynamic Duo for Batman to keep track of them all, but during the fight he realised that some things felt familiar; as if he almost could recall what was going to happen. The sight of a man in checkered blazer staring at Robin and raising his gun triggered a reaction in him; he didn't know what was about to happen, only that it scared him, and Batman hastily abandoned the fight with two of the burglars to throw himself at Robin, effectively tackling the boy to the ground.

He was up again a moment later and turned to face the gang. By now he could remember what had happened and he knew that the bullet hadn't actually hit Robin, but it had been close; close enough that the bullet tore the red vest.

Perhaps he had overreacted – but he couldn't be dissatisfied that he had avoided the situation. An inch closer would have been sufficient to give Robin a nasty wound.

Unfortunately, Robin obviously didn't share his mentor's feelings on the subject. He was on his feet again, sending a glare at Batman before he turned to confront one of the men, running a few steps for speed before jumping into a handspring, coming out of it with a flip and landed a hard kick at his target; a manoeuvre that gave him far more reach and strength of impact than his size would account for. The man fell to the ground with a dull thud.

In a matter of minutes, the floor of the jewellery store was littered with would-be robbers, glass shards and expensive ornaments.

"Robin, call the police from the Batmobile. I'll be out in a minute," Batman instructed.

Usually, Robin would have answered with some kind of pun, or at least a chipper "Right, Batman." This time, all he got for an answer was a grumble before the boy left the store.

Batman mentally prepared himself for the upcoming discussion while he tied the men up for the police. He knew very well how quickly a conversation with an angry Dick Grayson could turn into a heated quarrel. The fiery conflicts between himself, being overprotective, and Robin trying to break free and be his own man should still be several years away; he fully intended to keep it that way.

As soon as he had taken his seat and started the car, Robin turned to him.

"What was that about? I had everything under control."

"None of us has eyes in the back, Robin. The man was aiming at you," Batman said in a level voice.

"… You could have told me to duck, you know. As you usually do."

The idea that it had been normal behaviour for him to simply tell a kid to duck when he had a gun pointed at his back made Batman, once more, question what he had been thinking when he was young. But Robin was pouting rather than glaring, so he had obviously managed to avoid a temperamental outburst. The boy was still young enough not to be bucking for independence at every turn.

However, he wanted to be on the safe side and knowing how much Dick prized validation he continued, "I'm not taking any chances, chum. I've only got one of you."

His efforts were rewarded with a quick flash of a grin. Batman let his lips curl into a quick smile in return.

They continued the evening's patrol in the car. Batman drove around the city, keeping an eye open for trouble while listening on the police radio. It didn't take long before they picked up a report about a murder in the Explorer's club's geographical museum. The body of a Mr Challoner, one of the club members, had been found in an exhibition hall.

Batman felt a jolt of chill run through his body as he realised that he remembered the case – and that he could have stopped the murder if he had kept track of when it was going to happen. If only he could remember more details about past cases…

His grip on the steering wheel hardened; he would at least make sure that the murderer was caught – just as he had done before. The car came to a screeching halt when Batman stood on the brake and turned the steering wheel to change direction and go straight to the club.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Robin looking surprised at him – no doubt the boy thought that the news didn't warrant such a violent turn since no lives seemed to be at stake.

The Batmobile arrived at the Explorer´s club well before the police, and they found the club chairman, Stephen Skinner, waiting at the door.

"Dear me, Batman! I was waiting for the police, I just called them," the man exclaimed.

"So we heard, Mr Skinner," said Batman – as Bruce Wayne, he was well acquainted with the members of the exclusive club. "We just happened to arrive first. May we see the crime scene?"

The man scratched his neck.

"Well, I suppose the police won't mind if you solve the murder for them," he muttered and made a gesture for the costumed vigilantes to follow him.

"Six of us were having dinner to discuss our effort to solve a puzzle that our late secretary left for us. Then we went to our rooms – we usually retreat after dinner and meet up a few hours later. But I wanted to talk to Challoner about something he said; he claimed he knew how to find all of the clues himself. When he wasn't in his room I started looking for him," Skinner explained while he showed the way into the exhibition halls.

He led them to a huge room, dominated by a model continent with mountain ranges, rivers, grassland and lush rainforest.

"Why – it's South America!" Robin exclaimed.

Skinner stopped away from the giant model, letting his eyes flicker over to the dead body laying on top of the model, approximately over Paraguay.

"It's William Challoner…" he mumbled.

Batman carefully made his way up on the model to examine the body, with Robin at his heels. He already knew that the man had been killed by a poison dart, of course, but he needed to show it to his audience.

"An unusual method – a poisoned dart," he commented, pointing to the small dart in the man's back. "It's the type certain South American Indians shoots from a blow-gun."

"Gosh, Batman, it's as if he were actually killed in a South American jungled, instead of on a map."

"The murderer had a good reason to use a dart. A gun makes noise, and he didn't want to be caught in the act."

"I wouldn't have found the body, unless I had followed him," Skinner put in.

"The murderer probably guessed Challoner's idea and killed him in order not to have to share the money."

"Yes, but where are the other members? Shouldn't they have noticed that something were up when you called the police?" Robin asked.

"They must be in their rooms. The doors are thick and soundproof," Skinner answered.

No sooner had the chairman explained the absence of other people when they picked up the sound of approaching steps.

"Now they're coming," Robin remarked.

Batman, however, remembered that it was not the other members but rather a band of robbers who were approaching. He put a finger over his mouth, to keep the others from talking, and motioned them to come with him to a position beside the entrance. When three men made their way in, Batman stepped out of the shadows. He knew that he should know the name of the leader, but at the moment the memory stayed annoyingly out of reach.

The little gang stiffened and gasped "Batman"; after a moments hesitation, they looked ready to put up a fight, but they were no match for the vigilante; he threw one of the men at another, and they both stumbled to the ground.

"It's Puddler Powers!" Robin exclaimed, before throwing himself into the fight. The third man took a swing at the boy, but he expertly used the man's momentum to throw him down on the model.

"South America – here he comes!"

The man that Batman, with Robin's help, could identify as Puddler Powers jumped up and fled out from the hall, yelling at Batman to keep away. The crimefighters rushed after him and ended up in another exhibition hall; in this one, most of the floor consisted of a model of Antarctica. Surprisingly, the room was not empty; a man, evidently one of the club members, was walking over the giant map and looked up with a surprised frown at the intrusion.

"Can't even study this model without being interrupted," the man muttered.

Powers gripped a harpoon from the exhibition, holding it threateningly.

"Stay away, or I'll stick this harpoon into you!"

Batman shielded his partner with a low, "Watch it!", before he went for Powers at the same moment as the man threw the weapon.

Batman heard the heavy thud of the harpoon hitting something hard and the shrill cry of someone hurt or scared; he had tackled Powers to the ground and for a second fear gripped him; he tried to calm himself with the absence of any memory of Robin being hurt by a harpoon.

A second later he relaxed to the sound of the boy's joke, "What a whale of difference a harpoon can make!"

Batman exhaled slowly and turned to look; the club member that had been examining the model was staring wildly at the harpoon that had embedded itself mere inches away. At the same time, Skinner rushed into the room and drew his conclusions.

"Splendid work, Batman… You've caught the murderer."

"Murdered… Who has been murdered?" said the club member at the same time as Powers protested, "You're lying! I didn't kill nobody!"

Batman took a firm grip of Power's jacket and lifted him up, staring intently at the man.

"You can't pin nothing on me, Batman! I didn't even know nobody was dead! A little while ago Rusty phoned and said this joint would be easy to knock off…"

Batman let his threatening silence work a few more seconds before he rasped, "Can you prove it?"

"… Honest, Batman… You know I wouldn't have the nerve to lie to you…"

"The man's story is incredible! If he didn't kill Challoner, one of the other explorers did… And I refuse to believe that any of them is a murderer," Skinner protested.

"Besides, how could this Rusty know whether the Explorer's club was easy to rob or not?" the man who had been searching the Antarctica map added.

Again, Batman kept silent, not being able to remember enough to answer. And again, Robin came to his aid.

"I bet Rusty didn't make the call at all. Someone pretended to be him and made the call to get a scapegoat for the murderer."

The boy looked at Batman, no doubt expecting him to elaborate; the older vigilante gave him a small nod as a sign that he should continue.

"It was in the newspaper editorial several days ago. It criticised the police for not being able to get the goods on Rusty and Puddler, both known criminals. And it mentioned that Rusty had been sick."

Batman loosened his grip on Puddler; by now the man made no indication of trying to escape but listened intently and nodded when Robin spoke.

"The kid got it. I thought his voice sounded funny over the phone, but I blamed it on his cold!"

Batman turned to the club chairman.

"It would appear that one of your members did murder Challoner… And lured Puddler here to pin the crime on him."

Skinner seemed to deflate, hearing this words.

"I… I can't believe it…"

"Let's tie up our three 'guests' for the police, and round up your members. Then we will talk."

* * *

 _Dick thinking about how being Batman could be fun is from Batman # 689. Written by Judd Winick, art by Mark Bagley and Rob Hunter._

 _I've also stolen one line from "Heroes by proxy", written by Don Cameron, in Batman # 29._

 _Both panels are on my T_ umblr _. blog/northoftheroad_

 _The main plot is from "Voyage into Villainy", written by Joe Samachson, in Batman # 27._


	10. Chapter 10

It took a few hours until the police had picked up the robbers and taken witness statements, and the corpse of William Challoner had been removed. Only then, Batman and Robin could face the five surviving members in the club library. Batman let his glance slowly travel from one to the other as he said:

"I have called you together because I am convinced that one of you is a murderer."

Various cries of "an outrage!" and "preposterous" met his claim, and all of the members sat straighter in their chairs.

"I'm not convinced you are right, Batman. Before you accuse one of us, perhaps you'd better hear the whole story."

Batman inclined his head as a signal to the chairman to recapitulate the events of the evening.

"I don't know if you've heard of our late secretary, John Svenson, who died last year, leaving a most peculiar will. He was a wealthy man with no family, and he decided to leave his fortune to whoever could solve a puzzle he left. The paperwork for his fortune is in a safe that needs a ten-figure combination to open; the figures were supposed to be hidden in five parts of the world. The six of us have been collaborating to solve the puzzle. Five undertook to travel in the footsteps of Svenson, to try to find the numbers. He wrote a book about his travels that we've all been reading. This was the first Saturday we were all back in Gotham after the trips; Landry was back some ten days ago, and the others have only been back for three or four days," Skinner said, indicating the four remaining members.

"It took me months to retrace Svenson's trip to Tibet – a complete waste of time," said Gloria McCoy.

"And I traced every tributary of the Congo river to its source, and found nothing," added Malcolm Russo.

"At least you went somewhere warm to find nothing," grumbled Felix Landry, the club member that had been in the Antarctica exhibition. "All I did in the Antarctic was to carve my name on a glacier."

"Amen to that, my months in the Arctic was no better," said Jasmine Ngige. "I've been home for two days, and I can still feel the cold in my bones. The best you can say is that I saw some magnificent aurora borealis."

Malcolm Russo snorted at her comment, and the woman shrugged and said:

"Well, I like to think that I'm happy for what I can get. We do travel mostly to experience new things, after all."

"Challoner had been to the Amazon and drew a blank, just like the rest of us," said Gloria McCoy. "But then he dropped a bomb by saying that he was certain he could find every one of Svenson's clues and obtain the fortune. That was about six a clock."

"And a few hours after that he is found, dead, in a giant model of South America," said Batman, thoughtfully.

He already knew who the murderer was. If he only could remember killings before they happened… he could save so many lives. Luckily, no-one else would bee killed this evening, even if the murderer had made an effort to silence himself and Robin. He would like nothing more than to expose the murderer right away, but he needed to let things proceed until he had proof that would stand up in court.

"Challoner was killed because he guessed the vital secret. The five clues Svenson left are all in this building," he eventually said.

His words were promptly met with new cries of outrage.

"Wha…? Incredible!"

"You must be joking, Batman!"

"Of course it's a joke! After we've spent our time travelling to the four corners of the earth… You can't make us believe such a thing!"

"I think I can," he calmly stated. "I know for a fact that Svenson's last voyage to Antarctica took place several years before this house was built and the will was put in the safe. Svenson couldn't have left a clue to the combination anywhere near the South pole."

A few moments of silence followed while the five members absorbed the information.

"Of course… How stupid of us to miss that," murmured Gloria McCoy.

"Svenson left the clues in the models of the places he explored. Challoner guessed that and the murderer, observing him, learned the secret. But he – or she," he said, again letting his gaze wander around the group, "couldn't turn up with the combination after the murder without awakening suspicions. Therefore the murderer wanted to shift the guilt to someone else."

"Then you believe that the murderer already knows the combination," said Skinner.

"Not yet. There wasn't time to pick up all the clues after the murder. I suggest we look for the clues together."

The five members looked at each other, and Ngige was the first to acquiesce.

"I'm in."

Soon, Batman was leading the small group through the exhibition halls. He had Robin read from Svenson's book while they looked for the clues. They found one clue in a volcano in South America that was made to erupt the piece of paper, another on a model turtle in an African river that only became visible when the river dried once Batman had found the right lever, and the third in a glacier by the North pole.

The fourth clue came to light thanks to an earthquake in the model of Tibet. When Batman lived through the case the first time, Robin and Gloria McCoy had fallen into the hole of the quake. After some agonising, Batman opted not to try to prevent it; it hadn't been a dangerous fall, after all, and it had given him an excuse to postpone looking for the last clue when he claimed that Robin was shaken by his fall.

Things didn't happen exactly as he remembered, but close enough. McCoy fell into the hole, just as he had expected, but the young acrobat managed to jump away from the part of the model that was giving way under him. After a high flip, he landed on another part of the Tibetan mountain range, but unable to make a steady landing on the uneven ground that was a model of Mount Everest he fell down.

"Ouch," the boy murmured, scrambling to his feet.

For a moment, Batman felt as if a wave of icy water passed through his veins; it was a sobering reminder that he couldn't expect every detail to happen as he remembered it.

"Are you all right, Robin?"

"Right as rain, Batman! Is there a note down there, Miss McCoy?"

The woman stepped out of the hole, waving the clue triumphantly in her hand.

"Only one more to go!"

Batman took the offered note, put it with the others in his utility belt and turned to the group.

"I'm afraid the last clue will have to wait until tomorrow. It's late, and I want Robin to get a chance to rest."

He noticed the minute jerk of the head that showed that Robin was taken by surprise, but just as he expected, the boy took the cue and didn't protest. As he had counted on, Skinner offered them a room to rest until morning which he accepted.

When the duo had closed the door behind them, Robin turned to his mentor.

"What's the idea, Batman? We could easily have found the last clue."

Batman gave the boy a small smile, sat down at one of the beds and gestured to Robin to sit down beside him and be quiet. When he was certain that no-one was within hearing distance, he started explaining in a low voice.

"I'm convinced the murderer is going to try to silence us during the night. We will wait a while to make sure everyone's gone to bed; then we will go downstairs and find a place where sound carries up to this room."

He could see the boy's eyes widen under the domino.

"Golly, Batman! You mean you've cracked the case already?"

"Felix Landry was in the Antarctica exhibition when he should have been in his room. I know that he is the only one that needs the money, and he was the only one who was back in Gotham when the newspaper editorial was published."

He was rewarded with another admiring look.

"… Gosh, you really do know everything!"

"Let's remember that the next time you ask why I pour over the gossip columns and the financial pages, will you," Batman teased.

If not for his memories, he wouldn't know that Landry was the only member that wasn't economically independent. But the first time, it was the publication date of the editorial that had convinced him of the identity of the murderer. In his own time, when most newspapers published more digitally than on paper, he couldn't have solved a case on that information. But in this day, Internet publishing was still quite new, and he knew that the editorial had only been in the printed paper.

He nodded towards the door out of the room.

"Let's see if we can get downstairs without being seen."

They slipped out and found a place close to the hot-air register on the floor below, and waited. From time to time they exchanged a few words that would carry up to the room they had been showed, to make the murderer believe that they were still in there.

It took about an hour until they picked up a faint creaking of floorboards that indicated that the murderer was standing outside the door of their room. They made some closing comments, for the benefit of the visitor.

"Batman, we've found most of the clues that Svenson left. But we're no closer than before to discovering the murderer."

"I wouldn't say that, Robin. I have an idea who it is, and by tomorrow I will have the proof."

"Whoever it is, you've already spoiled his – or her – plans to get Svenson's money."

They fell silent, and Batman put his ear to the hot-air register. He could hear a low hissing sound that he knew was Felix Landry filling the room with carbon monoxide, meaning to kill him and Robin.

He signalled to Robin to be ready to leave their hide-out and then said, "I'm getting sleepy, Robin. We'll talk more in the morning."

The duo carefully made their way up and stayed around the corner from their room until they heard the sound that Batman, from memory, knew was Landry removing the hose from the keyhole. He gestured to Robin to follow him and rushed around the corner.

Felix Landry was standing outside the door rolling up the hose; he startled at their sudden appearance.

"But you're dead…" he started but was interrupted – by Batman's fist.

Presently, the rest of the club members came running to see what was happening. They stopped and gaped at the sight of Landry, lying on the floor together with the hose.

"Here's your murderer, Skinner. Felix Landry" Batman said. "We slipped out of the room more than an hour ago. I had an idea that he might try to kill me, to prevent me from naming him as the murderer."

"But… But why did you allow him to try to murder you?" the distraught chairman asked.

"I suspected he was the guilty man, but I had no proof. I needed to give him an opportunity to incriminate himself."

By now, Landry had sat up and glared at the Dynamic Duo.

"Curse you, Batman! You've caught me, but you'll never lay your hands on Svenson's money!"

"So you stole the last clue from Challoner and destroyed it, have you," Batman replied, evenly.

"Then we'll never open the safe through its combination, as Svenson's will demanded," said Skinner.

"Not at all," Batman replied. "Without the last clue, two numbers are missing. There are only 100 possibilities, beginning with 00 and ending with 99. It will take a while, but eventually, you will find the right combination."

Batman's declaration was met with a few moments of stunned silence from the club members.

"Great Scott, the man's a wizard!" Stephen Skinner exclaimed.

* * *

It was well into the early morning when the safe was finally opened, and the police had come to pick up Felix Landry. Batman politely declined not only the money but the offer to stay for a few hours rest in favour of returning to the Batmobile and drive home.

Robin yawned as he took his seat but turned to Batman almost as soon as the car had started.

"These people must have way too much time on their hands. Imagine going to other continents to look for some clue another guy has left – just for fun. It's not like they're looking for, I don't know, a plant that would cure a disease, or a valuable natural resource, or something… They could have hired a safe-cracker if they wanted to."

He shook his head, a near-smile playing around his mouth and his eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. But he soon looked down and turned serious.

"But they made a game out of it… All but the one who turned into a killer. Just for money."

Dick had taken to his new life in a rich man's home gracefully, but sometimes Bruce was reminded of just how different the boy's early years had been; a life where money was hard-earned. The Grayson's had been successful, and he had always taken for granted that they had never feared unemployment. But thinking about it, he realised they could hardly have been sure to have a job next year, or at least a few years on. A simple injury could be enough to put a stop to the family act, after all. And in show business, you always risked being outdated or surpassed by the competition.

To spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on what amounted to a luxury version of hide and seek might very well seem outrageous and irresponsible.

"I understand what you're thinking, Robin, but not all of them were born idle rich. Miss Ngige for instance; she made a small fortune as a talented businesswoman and chose to retire early to pursue her hobbies."

"…If you say so, Batman," said the boy with a neutral expression. He stared out of the window for a while, stifled another yawn and asked.

"Are we going home?"

"Hmh," Batman grunted, with what he hoped was an acquiescing infliction. Robin seemed to get the message, anyway, because he reclined and rested his head on the car seat, leaving Batman to his thoughts on the way back.

Thoughts that kept returning to the fact that he could have saved a life, if he had utilised his memories to the fullest. Was he, in fact, doing a mistake, trying to preserve his future at the expense of all the people he could save or help if he acted upon what he knew? Murder victims, Jason, Barbara, Cassandra, Duke…

Was recreating the future as he remembered it too high a price to pay?

* * *

 _Borrowing a lot from "Voyage into Villainy", written by Joe Samachson, in Batman # 27. I've posted a few panels on my tumbler (northoftheroad)_


	11. Chapter 11

For the umpteenth time since he was returned to his past, Bruce shot Dick a look of disbelief and dread while the boy dressed in his Robin suit.

Short sleeves. Short pants. Pixie boots. The vest was the only part of the original Robin costume that gave any kind of – if insufficient – protection; made of soft leather and lined with a layer of the best aramid fibres available at the time.

What had they been thinking, when they let the boy out in Gotham dressed like that; to fight metas and lunatics and thugs by the dozen, and armed with nothing but his acrobatics, skill and wit?

"It's high time to update your costume, Dick. That suit does not provide enough protection," he said, lifting his cowl and cape from its holder.

Not that the Batsuit of this time was much better, he had to admit. He missed the reassuring heaviness over his body, the stiff boots and the dull swoosh of the cape. Sometimes he had an unpleasant feeling of being half naked.

"It's a leotard, Bruce; how many times do I have to tell you!"

"I don't care what you call it. It doesn't even protect your knees from scrapes."

"Acrobats use leotards, Batman. Agility is my strength – you're the one who taught me that."

"Nevertheless. The Robin suit needs to cover more of you and be made of stronger material. It's not safe for you to go out in that."

"Something heavier and less flexible would impede my fighting style. How is that going to keep me safer?"

Most people thought that Dick Grayson was a sweet, kind and easygoing kid – but they had never encountered his stubborn streak, Bruce thought darkly. The boy would stop at nothing to get his own way. He would use charm, humour, manipulation, denial, deflection or downright refuse to back down.

Well, two could play that game, he decided. He was going to ask Alfred to help him make a new suit with long sleeves and legs and tougher material over the torso; something along the line of what he would dress Tim in… had dressed Tim in? Only with even more protection. Dick would be presented with his new suit as a fait accompli, never mind what it might do to the timeline. When Deathstroke the Terminator turned up in a few years time, the youngster would at least have a decent body armour to help him get through confrontations with the mercenary, who was far above his weight class even as an adult.

He never got the chance to come up with a fitting comeback to end the argument, however, since the intercom buzzed.

"Pardon, sir, but the Bat-Signal is on. It would seem the police commissioner is eager to see you," Alfred's voice came over the loudspeaker.

Batman made an affirmative noise, adding "Thank you, Alfred" as an afterthought, before heading out to the Batmobile with Robin at his heels.

"We're not finished with this discussion," he warned as they climbed into the car.

* * *

"Good to see you, Batman," commissioner Gordon greeted when he looked up from his paperwork and noticed the two vigilantes standing inside the window. "Not that it wasn't a pleasure to get help from Superman, but I'm glad you're back on your feet again."

The man he'd spoken to inclined his head in reply, but the more talkative of the duo gave the police officer a wide grin.

"Hi, commissioner. The original Dynamic Duo is back in business."

Jim Gordon's mouth twitched in a smile; then he turned to a pile of folders on his desk, starting to sort through them.

"I'm glad you could stop by. I've got a case we could use some help with."

"Of course, commissioner."

"... It's not as dramatic as most of your cases, but it's been plaguing us for months, and we're not making any progress. It's a hot car racket; the gang steals luxury cars on order, fixes them up and sells them under the pretence that they are almost new."

"Owned by a little old lady who only drove to church on Sundays," Robin quipped.

"We've closed some of the dealers, but there are always more. I'm sure the car dealers don't know any details – oh, they're bound to know there's something shady going on, but all they have is a contact, and so far we haven't been able to get anywhere from there."

It all sounded familiar to Batman – but he got a nagging feeling of worry as if this wasn't a case where he should let things run their due course. He needed to go over what he remembered and find a way around whatever the problem was.

"Give me all the information you've got, commissioner," was all he said.

Usually, he enjoyed his little talks with Jim Gordon and quite often he would stay a while to go through the information and perhaps drop a hint or two. But he'd be better off not talking about the case until he could sort out what he remembered.

"I'll get back to you when I have something to report," Batman said when he had got the information. He swiftly vanished out through the window and heard Robin say "See you, commissioner" before following him.

He silently lead the way back to the Batmobile and once there beckoned the boy to get in. He started the car, randomly choosing a route through the city.

"Are we going to check up on some car dealers straight away, Batman?"

"Give me a moment, Robin, I need to think something over."

The boy, obviously puzzled by Batman's unexpected hesitation, did his best to leave his mentor in peace. If they had been in the cave or on a roof, he would no doubt have done hand-stands on top of the computer or the gargoyles and back-flipped all over the place. Being stuck in the Batmobile, the boy couldn't do more than drum his fingers and fiddle with the radio receiver.

The problem was that Batman by now could recall the case – some of it quite vividly. He – as Bruce Wayne – had actually been stabbed in his arm for his troubles, but that was the least of his worries. What made him hesitate was the memory of how Robin, trying to find a lead to the brains of the hot car ring, would sneak out – had sneaked out – to take the place of a young man that was being coerced into trying to kill the District Attorney. He would end up a prisoner of the hot car ring together with the young man's sister, a dance performer.

The two of them had been left tied up over an oil pit filled with gasoline and a burning candle, to perish when the garage blew up – and the gang was long gone. If the girl, Juanita, hadn't managed to snuff out the fire by kicking her shoe at the candle at Robin's request, the plan would have succeeded. And Robin's quick thinking in putting the number plate of a stolen car on the gang's getaway car had led to most of them being caught by the police.

Batman hadn't seen the scene himself since he hadn't known where Robin was – the boy had left without speaking to his mentor about the plan and hadn't thought to bring the tracking device from his utility belt. Once again, Batman got temporarily sidetracked with brooding over his lack of foresight to hide trackers in the boy's underwear, for all those times when Dick didn't bring any of his Robin equipment.

While the two youngsters narrowly escaped death, he himself had been stuck worrying in Commissioner Gordon's office. But he had never had any problem visualising the scene, neither when he first heard of it Juanita's fortuitous hit, nor right now.

It took Batman only moments to decide that he would do everything he could to prevent the past he remembered from repeating itself. The fear of what could happen – the girl might miss when she kicked her shoe or Robin could be killed by the gang in another way – by far outweighed his hope that he could return to a future that looked exactly as it should.

He turned the Batmobile towards the manor, set on keeping Robin away from the case.

All he had to do was to pretend that he found the racketeers some other way. Since he remembered most of what had happened and where, it should be a piece of cake to track down the gang. He did not doubt his ability to put together a solid case and give to the commissioner; it wasn't like he generally disclosed the details of how he worked to the police, anyway. He would not, however, be able to fool Robin if the boy went with him.

The problem was how he was going to keep Robin far away from the case. When it came to field work, Robin wasn't generally disobedient as such – but he had a creative way of circumventing orders, so he didn't really have to go against them. The time when Dick had obeyed the order not to put on the Robin uniform for 30 days but used the suit itself to trick the Green Cowl gang that Robin was there, stood out in his memory.

Batman's musings were interrupted by the very person around who was occupying his thoughts; the boy had finally lost his patience.

"Why are we heading home already? Aren't we going to patrol or look for any leads about the commissioner's hot car racket?"

"I believe it will be more efficient to start by researching the Batcomputer."

"And we're not going on patrol first? Do you really think a gang of car thieves are that important…?"

Since he couldn't very well tell the boy that this particular gang of car thieves were a threat to the District Attorney's life, Batman searched for a reasonable excuse to make the case a priority. Perhaps he should have waited until after a regular patrol to avoid raising awkward questions, but it would seem even more out of character to change his mind, halfway back to the cave.

He felt like harrumphing – that's what he would have done in his own time and his newer Robins were accustomed to it and would probably leave him to his thoughts. Unfortunately, this Robin would keep asking questions.

"Commissioner Gordon asked for our help; that's a good enough reason for me, Robin."

Batman congratulated himself on the reply – Dick was all about helping people, he wouldn't question that. But the tricky part was still to come; to leave Robin behind. He decided it would be easier to try to distract him from the case altogether, rather than grounding him when it was time to go out in the field.

When they had arrived back at the cave, Batman turned to the boy.

"I can research this case without you, Robin. You may use the gym if you want to, or you can go upstairs and take the evening off."

He got the message that he could have executed his diversion better – immediately, loud and clear. The boy stiffened, tore off his mask and turned to face him. He stared at Batman, his eyes first wide and then narrowing, and finally exclaimed, "Why?"

"...I expect I will be working here for several hours; there is no reason for you to be stuck here too."

"Usually, you'd want me to stick around, so I don't get the idea that being Robin is just about flipping over rooftops and getting into fights. And I can't remember the last time you wanted to start a case on the computer instead of looking around and try to get some people to talk. What makes this case so special?"

You'll be a second away from a horrible death, and I can't take that risk, Batman wanted to say. Instead, he tried, "I think you need a rest from this, Dick. You worked the case with Clark for several days, after all. And we had a busy night yesterday. I'd prefer it if you spent a day or two away from the cave."

Dick's eyes narrowed even more, and he clenched his teeth.

"Fine! If you don't want me around, I'll leave you in peace… I'll get out of here and go see my friends."

"Friends…?"

"Yeah, you know. Friends. Some of us have them. You might like it, if you tried."

"…Remind me."

"Gosh, Bruce, you're acting weirder each day! Wally and Roy and Garth and Donna, of course. I showed you the place we hang out sometimes. I'll make some calls, and I'll be out of your hair!"

Roy Harper – that's a role model for you, Bruce thought moodily to himself. Already flirting with Wonder Girl, and in a few years, he would be stuck with drug problems. God, there were so many people whom he knew would get hurt or even die. Should he talk to Ollie and make him understand what was needed to keep Roy from addiction – or should he stop Dick from seeing the other boy?

That's one idea he shut down immediately. Dick wouldn't meekly accept that Bruce could dictate whom he was friends with. And in the end, surely both Roy and Dick benefited from their friendship, however difficult the situation sometimes would be.

All things considered, Robin hanging out with the future Teen Titans was preferable to having him within a mile of a garage with a petrol-filled oil pit and a burning candle, Batman decided.

"Seeing your friends a good idea, tomorrow. Alfred will pack something to eat; you can stay all day if you want to."

The answer obviously surprised the boy; his mood seemed to flicker between anger and anticipation.

"… Right…" he eventually said, still determined to sulk.

"I don't want you to be alone there, though. If none of them can come, ask if you can visit with them instead."

The conversation was definitely not leading where Dick had expected – he looked downright confused. Fair enough, Bruce thought, he almost surprised himself; but better confused than tied up in an exploding garage.

"And you will not go out as Robin, except for going there and home. I don't care if you get a call for help from the General Secretary of the United Nations or if the Penguin takes over Manhattan; you will not go out as Robin without my approval."

"..."

"Is that clear?"

"... Yes...!"

"And if you intend to go out with your friends in civilian clothes, you must check in with my first."

"What the... Bruce! What is it you're not telling me?"

"..."

"Don't give me that stonewall face. Even you wouldn't be this paranoid if there weren't something up!"

"... I'm... concerned, that is all. I want to know where you are. Now, are you going to comply, or do you prefer to stay in the manor?"

"Fine! Okay! Why don't you just chip me like a pet and have it over with?" Dick snapped, before turning on his heel and storming to change from his Robin outfit.

It hadn't exactly gone well; Bruce had to admit to himself. Perhaps he was just too different from his younger self to manage to keep things as they once were. He was already changing history in different ways; as he remembered it, Dick hadn't lost his temper with him like this for at least a couple of years.

He sighed and sat down in front of the computer console, deciding to concentrate on solving the hot car racket to avoid thinking about how his actions would affect his future relationship with the first Robin.

* * *

 _The case that Batman had Robin sit out is "An Affair of Death", writer Al Schwartz. Batman dailies November 26, 1945, to February 9, 1946._

 _Also mentioned: "The Plainclothes Robin", by David Vern. Star Spangled Comics # 112._

 _And Dick's feelings about heavy suits are made quite clear when he is new as Batman, in Batman # 688._

 _Panels from all three can be found on my Tumblr, /blog/northoftheroad_


	12. Chapter 12

In the afternoon the following day, the case was solved. The gang was taken into custody, the District Attorney was safe, as were the young man and his sister who had been involved, and commissioner Gordon was extremely impressed with Batman's accomplishments. Time to move on to other tasks, Batman thought when he drove the Batmobile into the cave.

What he should do was to try to think of new ways to track Miss Gsptlsnz, but he felt strangely listless over the prospect of returning to his own time. Throughout the rest of the afternoon and whatever he tried to work with, his attention kept drifting to his present situation.

He had intended to change as little as possible, for fear of finding his future changed for the worse when he managed to get back. But it had been over a week, and he was no closer to finding a way home, as long as he didn't want to consult Superman.

That was the crux of the problem, wasn't it… He wanted to go home; he missed his family so badly he could taste it. But this latest case had once again proved that he could put his knowledge of upcoming events to good use. This was an opportunity to control what was going to happen in a way that he, for all his planning and backup plans, had never had before. Perhaps he would make more of a difference by staying in this time and take advantage of that knowledge, rather than by going home.

He could certainly solve a lot of cases faster and with less danger involved than the first time around, but truthfully, what really made him hesitate to ask Superman for help was what he could do for his family and friends. For Jason, Tim and Barbara... He could try and find Cassandra and save her from being forged into a weapon and he could prevent Duke's parents from succumbing to the Joker's gas.

His thoughts turned to the four Robins. Too many memories of boys dressed in red, green and yellow, fighting and getting hurt. Too few of ice-cream on the way to the cinema, of visits to the zoo or the museum, or of seeing the boys with kids their own age outside the cape community.

This was his one chance to keep at least the younger ones safe; perhaps even out of the vigilante life altogether.

He knew that Jason would thrive in an environment where he could spend his time reading, studying and sporting. The boy would have had a better life in another adoptive home than Wayne Manor. Or perhaps his mother was still alive; if she were to get help and a job, Jason could stay with her.

He briefly wondered if it would be possible to take Jason in and keep him from becoming involved in the vigilante life. Hardly… If he wanted to give the boy a chance to a safe and happy life and not fighting a never-ending battle against crimes, Bruce should make arrangements for the boy outside the Wayne family, he thought with a lump in his throat.

And Tim – he ought to find a way to encourage the parents to bring the boy with them on their travels, or to find a good boarding school where he could make friends and forget about stalking Batman and Robin. Surely Tim would find some kids he would mesh with and get friends that had other interests besides teasing death on a nightly basis. The boy could use his considerable talents for something better and safer than becoming a Robin.

The most difficult one was Damian, of course. He was yet to be conceived, and Bruce had a hard time seeing how he could go through with a relationship with Talia with everything he knew and had experienced that his fourteen years younger self hadn't. But at the same time, a future without Damian – that proud and prickly boy that collected stray animals at an alarming speed – seemed impossible.

He had been fascinated by his son's mother, attracted to her, at times in love. She had helped him many times, but ultimately, she was more loyal to her father. He did not believe that she loved him for the man he was under the cowl; she wanted perfection. A perfect mate, a perfect son, a perfect Al Ghul heir.

Talia was… a snob, to put it politely. She despised Dick Grayson, thought him not fit to be the heir of her "beloved" or to raise and work with her son. The irony, of course, being that Bruce would never have matured into the man she was so enamoured with today without the responsibility of taking in the boy. He very much doubted he would even have survived more than a few years, without Robin.

His thoughts drifted back to Tim, who had stated with such certainty that Batman needed a Robin. And the boy had a point; he had to acknowledge that. How would Batman fare when Dick moved on if he didn't have a new Robin by his side?

Knowing what he did, he would learn to work on his own again, if that was what it took to keep Jason and Tim safe.

If he took this road, he wouldn't let his relationship with Dick deteriorate as it once had; he would still have a partner when he needed. Because he knew that Dick was a lost cause when it came to keeping him safe; every time he had tried to shut Robin down, the boy had left the Wayne household and somehow gone back to trying to help people but without Batman watching his back.

Was he selfish for wanting to get back to his old life, when he could make certain that so many people had a better life by staying here? He heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, still torn when the intercom from the manor crackled to life.

"Master Bruce? The young sir has returned home. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes," Alfred's voice informed him.

He acknowledged the summoning with "I'm coming, Alfred", but stayed where he was, staring into the vast cave. If he concentrated, he could sometimes hear the soft sound of bats. In his present, the time he had been taken from, the bats had moved further into the dark tunnels, escaping from the cold lights and the almost constant sound of a family of vigilantes and their equipment.

Batman knew what he wanted to do; but he also knew what he should do, if his goal were to help as many people as possible. He took a deep breath and let his eyes wander over to the spot where he had made Dick wow "to fight against crime and corruption and never swerve from the path of justice…"

His personal feelings were not a priority. If he could best help people by staying here and taking advantage of everything he knew, he should do that.

Once he had permitted himself to think it, he was filled with a strange feeling of relief; as if letting go of an impossible dream and preparing to do the best of what he had. And that included working on preserving a better relationship with the Robin he had instead of agonising over what-ifs. He had plenty of time to think about how he could best help the others, and how to handle Talia.

Dick was already seated at the dinner table when Bruce arrived and sat down in his chair.

"Did you enjoy the day with your friends, Dick?"

"… Fine, thanks."

The boy was still not happy with him. Typically, he wouldn't be this reticent but would chatter happily about what they had done or relate some story he had heard from his friends.

"… How's the hot car ring coming along?"

Ah, a small peace offering, Bruce thought.

* * *

"In the sack, chum. I found the garage they used as a headquarter and the police have them all in custody. You didn't miss anything exciting…"

 _Confession time: My basic goal is to keep as true to current canon as possible, even if there is a tiny window of opportunity to snatch Batman from his time when all the Robins are alive and present, no-one is suffering from amnesia, there is no engagement going on, no formerly presumed dead parents are turning up and whatnot (it's not like I read every Bat-title, so I don't even know everything that is going on)._

 _But when it comes to the Robins' backgrounds, pre Flashpoint is sometimes too engrained in me to let me leave it behind. (Read: I will never accept the idea that Dick was a teenager when he became Robin, and that he only was Robin for a year or two.)_

 _Also, I'm not even sure what the current canon is, in some instances. Especially when it comes to Tim. Before New 52, he was from a privileged background, his parents were alive when he became Robin, but they were both killed. In Batman and Robin Eternal, Tim's parents were alive but living with protected identities, apparently because Tim managed to piss Penguin off trying to impress Batman (way to go, kid..!) I've also read that his background has been retconned so that he figured out Batman and Robin after Jason's death. This seems to imply he never did identify Robin from Dick's acrobatics, and I don't know if his parents were as neglectful as I think they were portrayed as pre-Flashpoint. I'm working under the pretence that Tim's background is pretty much like it was originally, a few retcons back._

 _I probably don't have all the details correct when it comes to current canon Talia, either. Just saying…_

 _So, if you imagine a universe where the present Batman remembers is current canon, and the character's backstories are mostly pre-Flashpoint, and every Batfamily story ever told has probably happened... That is where this story takes place._


	13. Chapter 13

"Good morning, Master Bruce."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry you seem to have had a trying night, sir. I'm sure you will feel better after breakfast. And you do have the pop art exhibition to look forward to."

"…?"

"I'm sure you can't have forgotten that you've accepted an invitation for you and the young Master to the opening of the new exhibition at the Gotham City Museum. At six o'clock. Sir."

"… Pop art, huh?"

"Quite, sir."

It rang a bell, Bruce thought. There's something about a pop art exhibition…

"I'm afraid I'm as addle-brained as my reputation, Alfred. Do you know where I can find the invitation or a leaflet about the exhibition?"

Instead of answering, Alfred walked a few steps to a side table where he picked up a paper and went back to Bruce.

"I took the liberty of finding the invitation, Master Bruce. In your wastebasket, a few weeks ago."

"… I don't know what I would do without you, Alfred."

"Indeed, sir."

"Since we've established I'm virtually helpless on my own, do you mind clueing me in on why I accepted?"

"Billionaire playboys needs to be seen, once in a while, if one wants to uphold a certain reputation, sir. Besides, I believe Master Richard's interest was piqued by the… art."

He looked down at the piece of paper Alfred had put beside his plate. It was adorned with a triptych of beautiful, female villains: Dragon Fly, Silken Spider and Tiger Moth.

Which meant this was the art exhibition where Poison Ivy would make her first appearance. And hit on Bruce Wayne, before she would blind everyone with exploding flashbulbs. And the day after, she would make a move on Batman. Some days were just more complicated than others…

The question was how he should best deal with the situation. Knowing how Poison Ivy was to explode the flashbulbs, he could prevent it and make certain that she was picked up by the police straight away. But he would probably not be able to pin a serious enough crime on her and her actions the following day would help them catch several more criminals.

He was deep enough in his thoughts about what was going to happen that he didn't notice Dick coming in. All of a sudden, the boy sat down at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Master Richard."

"Morning, Alfred," the boy replied, pointedly ignoring his guardian. Hearing that Batman had solved the case on his own the day before had, inexplicably, done nothing to improve his temper.

Bruce saw Alfred raising an eyebrow and glancing in his direction, and he couldn't help thinking about how his own Dick had looked, the last time he saw him. Tense jaw, lines of anger around his mouth and between the eyes, rigid body-langue when he didn't make large gestures.

He sighed, audibly. It really was one of his biggest talents, no matter what time he found himself in; to be able to make the usually easy-going Dick Grayson utterly pissed.

Perhaps an innocent art exhibition, followed by a case, would be enough to get the boy to stop sulking. And this time, thanks to his memories, Batman would be in control of the situation. He just needed to think very carefully about how far he would let Poison Ivy go before he reeled her in.

* * *

The art exhibition hall at the Gotham City Museum was buzzing with life around billionaire Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward, standing in front of paintings of three of the most dangerous and beautiful women in the world: Dragon Fly, Silken Spider and Tiger Moth.

The paintings proclaimed them to be World Public Enemies number one to three. Bruce almost rolled his eyes. It was an exaggeration, even in this time. In his own time, they were strictly second league.

He glanced at Dick who was studying the paintings in great detail. The boy's mood had slowly improved during the day. Partly because he had been permitted to train on the trapeze while Bruce worked in the cave, and partly because he wasn't, at heart, prone to hold grudges. Of course, it helped that he was still young enough to be in awe of Batman. And even if Bruce had lived through long periods when Dick didn't really like him, he knew that he had never lost the boy's love.

When Bruce had encouraged him to bring the Robin costume under his ordinary suit, with a promise of an early evening patrol after the art exhibition, the last remnant of sullenness had left.

"Stop drooling, you're too young," he said, teasingly.

"I can dream until I'm old enough to try to catch them, can't I?" a smiling Dick retorted.

Bruce glanced at his watch; she would come any minute now. He almost felt like counting down; instead, he went over his plans for the upcoming days in his head.

"You men are such fools!" a clear voice cut through the sound barrier of visitors' small talk. The buzz ebbed out as the exhibition-goers turned towards the woman who continued talking as she walked towards the triptych.

"If you weren't so blind, you would see that I'm not only more beautiful, but I'm more successful than those amateurs! Why, you don't even know of my crimes. They're so perfect!"

By know, everyone in the hall was staring at her. And Bruce had to give it to her; she was a sight. A tall, willowy figure, with auburn hair and dressed in green, shimmering tights and body.

"That's the only mistake I made… Committing such perfect crimes that I haven't gotten any publicity about them," she continued, moving forward to stop in front of him.

Oh well, time to play his role.

"Public Enemy number one. Mind proving that to the police?" he said, taking a grip on the woman's wrist.

"For you, handsome… Anytime!"

In the corner of his eye, he could see Dick roll his eyes and scrunch his nose; never mind how he joked about catching beautiful villainesses, he was still too young to appreciate sex appeal. Bruce had to bit down to stop a small grin from forming; Dick really had no room to complain about his guardian attracting female attention. At this time, it might be mostly elderly ladies cooing over how cute he was, but in a few years, he would be able to turn the heads of a whole room of people, whether superheroes or socialites.

Actually… If Dick had been his daughter, he would probably have floored a number of people for how they talked about or stared at or even touched him. There was probably a moral lesson to be learned somewhere in there, but he didn't have the time to ponder it at the moment.

"No handcuffs are needed. Just slip your arm through mine. And call me Poison Ivy!" the green-clad women continued, yanking his attention back to the present.

A few journalists who were covering the exhibition opening had scrambled up to them and started taking photos. Bruce kept his grip on the woman, signalled to Dick to stay back and began leading her against the exit.

"Mind if I put a little more voltage in my makeup for the flashbulb boys, handsome?"

He knew that the lipstick would send electrical impulses to explode the flashbulbs. Since he reasoned that it would be best to let the woman be on the loose until she had committed enough crimes to go to prison for, he hummed noncommittally.

Then he looked down and closed his eyes. Even through his eyelids, he saw the blinding light from the exploding flashbulbs of the journalists' cameras.

"Ohhh… I forgot to tell you boys… I'm not quite ready to be taken to the police! I've got a few imperfect crimes to commit! Just so you'll know Poison Ivy is the real number one!"

"You exploded the flashbulbs with an electrical impulse from the lipstick. You must be wearing protective contact lenses," he said, holding a hand before his eyes to pretend being blinded.

"I see you've got an IQ to match your looks, handsome! We've still got a date... But not with the police! I have something cozier in mind. I'll contact you when I'm ready."

He opened his eyes slightly, just enough to see Poison Ivy making her way to the exit.

"Don't forget to spell the name right, boys. Poison… as in arsenic! Ivy… as in irresistible! Ta-ta," she said, mockingly, before she ducked out of the hall.

Bruce took a quick look around. Everyone seemed to be temporarily blinded, including Dick. He quietly made his way out, starting to remove his ordinary clothes. By the time he had reached the stairs, he had left Bruce Wayne's costume in the wardrobe and was all Batman.

The first time this had happened, he had been blinded and had accidentally stumbled into an open elevator shaft, almost falling to his death. This time, he took the sensible route and rushed down the stairs.

Just like he remembered, a gang of men were guarding the exit of the building, having been promised payment from Poison Ivy to stop anyone from following her. He had still been almost blind by then, and it had been a tough fight.

This time, he could see just fine – including the green figure of Poison Ivy watching from the other side of the road for a while, until she slipped away. He had almost knocked out all of the gang when Robin rushed out through the doors.

"Gosh, what a pop-ular hang-out," the boy quipped as he threw himself into the fight.

Within minutes, Poison Ivy's henchmen were defeated. Robin went up to Batman, right into his personal space, and studied him carefully.

"What?"

"Just want to make sure you're not breaking out in a rash about Poison Ivy, Batman."

"Don't worry; I know what plants to handle with care, Robin."

So far, so good, Batman thought when police cars drove up to take care of the gang. The next move was up to Poison Ivy. If he remembered correctly, by tomorrow, he should have invitations from the woman to both Bruce Wayne and Batman, challenging them to battle it out for her favour. She would also send challenges to Dragon Fly, Silken Spider and Tiger Moth who would each bring their own gang. All that remained was for Batman and Robin to drop by and make sure none of them got away – including Poison Ivy herself.

"Do you have any clue what she's going to do next or where she's hiding, Batman? Or do we have to wait for her to commit an imperfect crime?"

He couldn't stop himself from thinking that his Dick would already have Poison Ivy figured out – that she wanted attention and wasn't likely to stay in hiding. But he instantly pushed it away; it wasn't fair to compare a child to an adult who had led both the Teen Titans and the Justice League.

"Do you think she will stay hidden?" he said, encouraging the boy to analyse what he had picked up on the woman.

"... No way! That's one lady who wants to be in the spotlight! I suppose that means we won't have to wait long for her to come to us?"

"I think you're right, Robin. She will soon get in touch."

* * *

The following evening, the duo used the Bat-copter to reach the place where Poison Ivy had invited both Batman and Bruce Wayne. She wanted to see the two men fighting over her; he fully intended to fight her, take her in and leave her for the police.

Just as he recalled, the lawn outside the house was full of people from the underworld, busy combating each other. The woman knew how to get attention; he had to give her that. Everyone had come early, wanting to surprise everyone else; instead, it had turned into a huge melée.

Robin whistled when he spotted the battle scene on the ground.

"Gosh Batman, it's like something out of a Hollywood movie. All that's needed is a few monsters, and we could sell tickets!"

"Have you checked that your parachute is safely on, Robin? I'm enabling the autopilot. We'll jump out here."

"You can thank her for collecting such a big bag of criminals, all in one spot, for us. Maybe the judge will even give her a few years off for such good behaviour."

"Robin. Your parachute. The release system. The harness."

"…What about them?"

"I want you to check that everything is fastened and working."

"We already did – before we went into the copter."

Batman stared down at the surprised frown on Robin's face and thought about when Dick picked up free fall for a hobby, with the intent of jumping from over a hundred thousand feet. And Tim encouraged him, the little troll. With kids like that, was there any wonder he had started to find grey hairs among the black?

He knew that the boy – though not a boy at the time – had made the jump, while Bruce was presumed dead. A fifteen minutes fall from the stratosphere to the Earth. And he had to admit, in a way he was grateful he hadn't been there to see it. Surely, the worry would have killed him.

"Listen, Robin. You can never be thorough enough when checking your equipment before a parachute jump. Will you promise me that, chum?"

"… Sure, Batman."

Robin shrugged, no doubt thinking that his mentor simply was more paranoid than usual; that is, being Batman. But he checked that the straps of his harness were all fastened and that he could quickly reach the ripcord.

"All right, Batman?" he said when he had finished.

"All right, out you go."

Once out in the air, Batman could see that Poison Ivy's three female competitors were running together, making gestures towards him and Robin. They were probably calling a truce to take care of the Dynamic Duo; not that he intended to give them a chance.

He steered his parachute towards the group around the women, swinging his lines so that he would act as a human pendulum and kick down as many of the gang members as possible. Some distance away, he could see Robin mimicking his manoeuvre.

Once he had landed, he quickly slipped out of the harness and continued the fight on foot. He didn't worry about Dragon Fly, Silken Spider and Tiger Moth, knowing full well that Poison Ivy had set a trap for them and that they would still be unconscious when the police arrived.

By the time he and Robin had defeated most of the gang, the green-clad woman was closing in on him with an inviting smile.

"Forget all this nonsense of fighting for the law, Batman. Join me! Together we can be the number one royal couple of crime! Why fight it? Fate meant it that way!"

She crept up close to him; he knew very well what was going to happen and that she had a lipstick with a chloroform base. He had decided to let her go through with it and let Robin "save" him, only holding his breath to avoid the gas as much as possible.

"All it will take… is this kiss to prove it," Poison Ivy purred, as she embraced him and drew his head down for a long kiss.

He couldn't avoid being affected altogether, but he was confident he could get loose even if Robin didn't intervene as he had the first time. But he wasn't disappointed; soon he heard the boy's steps coming closer and felt strong hands tugging him away.

"No wonder she had you spinning, Batman," Robin said, sniffing the air audibly. "She's wearing lipstick with a chloroform base! I suppose you're wearing a nose-filter not to be affected," he added to the woman.

"Smartie-pants! No wonder they call you the boy wonder," Poison Ivy scoffed. "But Batman would have fallen for me anyway… If I just used ketchup instead of lipstick!"

He felt a bit light-headed but less so than the first time.

Poison Ivy ran a few steps to the nearby wall and started to climb.

"Batman, she's climbing straight up that wall, like she was ivy! We've got to stop her," Robin urged him.

"You're wasting your time, junior! Batman's under my spell! I've clipped his wings," she called down.

But Batman was ready; he whipped out a batarang and threw it at the fleeing villainess, causing her to lose her grip on the wall. When she tumbled down, he was ready to catch her in his arms.

"Holy weeding, Batman!" Robin cried.

Batman put Poison Ivy down on her feet but kept a firm grip to prevent her from escaping.

"The GCPD should be here any minute, Robin, we gave them enough warning. Let's tidy up as far as we can while we wait."

"Right hoe, Batman…"

* * *

 _Poison Ivy makes her debut in "Beware of Poison Ivy" in Batman # 181 (written by Robert Kanigher, art by Sheldon Moldoff and Joe Giella). Needless to say, you can see a panel or two on my Tumblr._

 _Dick picks up free falling as a new hobby (much to Bruce's displeasure) in the story arch "Freefall" in Nightwing 140–146, written by Peter Tomasi. Yep, I've posted that too on my Tumblr. (northoftheroad)_


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce had made a tentative peace with his new place in the world. If he were indeed going to live his life here, he was going to take advantage of everything he knew, including his knowledge of future technological innovations. He had already started with updating a communications device that he intended to try out in the field during the evening patrol.

He led the way to one of the highest rooftops in Gotham, where he stopped and brought out the appliance. Robin gave him a curious look, and when nothing happened for about 30 seconds, asked, "What are you doing, Batman?"

"I've been working on this comm radio. It will significantly increase our range – and the bandwidth we can listen in to."

"Cool", the boy answered, doing his best to sound interested. However, the way his eyes kept roaming over the rooftops betrayed to Batman where his focus was.

When the older man made no indication that he was going to leave his position on the roof, Robin started to move around. First he took a few steps here and there, then he began to make flips, and eventually, he was walking on his hands around Batman, who kept fine-tuning the controls of his new equipment without giving Robin's antiques any attention.

Finally, the boy came up to his mentor.

"As long as you're tinkering, I'll take a look around," he said, turned and took out the grappling hook gun that Batman had ordered him to bring, disregarding the boy's protests that is was too heavy and would impede his acrobatics.

"No," Batman said, not looking up from his work.

"What…? Why not?"

"I prefer to have you close by."

"… Why? Is anything going on?"

"…"

"Come on…! You made me bring this grapple gun, I can at least try it out."

"…. Hm… Keep within sight."

"Within sight… You haven't looked at me the last ten minutes, what difference would it make," Robin muttered.

Batman's head whipped up.

"Robin, I'm serious! If you go further than I can see you, you can forget about going out the next two weeks."

"All right, already! I'll keep in sight!" Robin exclaimed, turning on his heels and throwing himself over the edge of the building.

Only a lifetime of experience with Dick Grayson jumping from rooftops, seemingly without looking where he was going, prevented Batman from shouting out in desperation. The second after, he heard the sound of the grapple gun firing its hook. He shook his head wearily; Dick had always enjoyed pushing his limits, even when it came to personal safety – why should today be any different? And they had checked the lines thoroughly before they went out this evening; he couldn't really fault the boy for trusting the new equipment.

If Robin could see how much attention he was getting from his mentor right now at least he wouldn't complain about the lack of it, Batman reflected. He kept working on the communication device but kept an eye out for the boy who was shooting the grapple hook over and over again and flying between buildings.

After about half an hour he was ready to admit that it was functioning perfectly adequately; he had picked up several police radios, private radio signals and walkie-talkie communications during the test. He was getting ready to turn it off and accompany Robin for a turn over the city when his attention was grabbed by a message on a new bandwidth.

"Robin knows our secret; we must eliminate him. I can see him from the lighthouse; he's in a perfect position. Set our plan in motion – now."

Batman almost lost his grip on the device for a second before he grasped it so hard it hurt, and he swung around and looked in all directions to locate the boy. After a few agonising seconds, he spotted Robin several blocks away one on of the buildings by the harbour.

Before he could open his line to the boy, the comm link snapped to life, and he heard the boy's voice, tight of tension, in his ear.

"Batman, I just heard someone fall into the river. I'll go…"

"No! Come back here!"

"But Batman…"

"I don't care what you've got! This is a direct order – cut and return to me immediately!"

Batman fully expected Robin to keep on protesting, but something in his voice must have conveyed the desperation he felt.

"… Will do, Batman…"

During the few minutes it took Robin to return, Batman concentrated on calming down and sorting out his memories of the incident. He had laid out a false trail, hadn't he; shooting at Robin and throwing him in the sea, pretending to murder the boy so the gang would stop looking for him and to lure the leader to expose himself.

When Robin landed in front of him, Batman couldn't help himself – he lifted a hand and gripped the boy's shoulder as if to make sure he was really standing there.

"Good boy," he murmured.

Robin stared at him, biting his lip.

"What's the matter, Batman?"

Batman let go of the boy's shoulder, only to let it travel up and ruffle the black hair.

"It was… a lucky fluke. I picked up a signal from someone who gave the order to kill you. It was a trap."

"… Gosh, I would have gone to the river for sure, if you hadn't called me back!" the boy exclaimed. Then he threw a look against the harbour and continued, "But if we go there now, perhaps we can pick up whoever set it up."

Robin turned and took a few steps back towards the river. Batman let him go but stood still and considered his options. He felt confident the men would have realised their prey had avoided the trap and left by now. He hadn't picked up any more signals from the lighthouse, but he needn't tell Robin that. With a bit of time, he was sure that he could remember enough to put the case together and pretend he had done so from information he had overheard.

Robin looked over his shoulder.

"Aren't we going?"

"I'm sure they're already gone, by the time we get there."

"Didn't you hear anything else that we can work with?"

"… Yes. They mentioned the lighthouse…"

"The lighthouse! But the only lighthouse in Gotham is manned by Captain Spume. Do you think anything has happened to him? Let's go there!"

Captain Spume… The old sea-dog whom Batman had thought of as a friend. Sometimes they had shared a friendly game of chess. But the man had used his position in the lighthouse to collect information about ships passing in and out of Gotham harbour and setting up robberies whenever he deemed it profitable. The caper had been going on for six months before Robin, only recently, happened to come across a break-in and thus made the gang believe he was on to them.

He still had the headphones from the communications device on; trying to gain time he said, "Quiet, Robin, I can hear them speaking again."

The curious youngster didn't make things easy for him; he walked closer.

"Can I listen too?" he whispered, making an effort not to drown the alleged voices in Batman's ear.

Batman shook his head and signalled for Robin to step away. He could take his time, pretending to listen but in fact recalling what had happened and set up a plan. Robin had picked up a pair of infrared glasses when he broke up the robbery, and Captain Spume often used infra-red signals from the lighthouse to give his orders. That's why Spume thought that Robin knew too much, even though Batman and Robin so far hadn't put two and two together about the infrared glasses.

When it happened the first time, Batman had taken the place of a hit-man to shoot at Robin. He had rowed the "body" out and threw it in the bay, relying on Robin to free himself and swim away. God, what ideas I had, he thought.

He had ordered Dick to stay hidden and when he was seen dumping Robin's "body", he had been instructed to go to one of the piers where a robbery was going to take place. He had followed the robbers to the lighthouse where he had been spotted and caught by the gang – and brought to their chief, Cyrus Spume.

Meanwhile, Robin had figured out that Spume was the culprit and gone against Batman's orders to go to the lighthouse. He had come just in time to save Batman's life, and they had managed to take down the gang.

Robin had risked drowning, getting shot and falling to his death from the lighthouse, all in one night. But not this time – he didn't want the boy within a mile of the lighthouse.

Batman pretended to turn off the device and turned to Robin.

"Come on, chum. I've lost their signal, but I think I got what I needed. We're heading home."

"Home!? Why aren't we going after them already?"

"I need to look into something back in the cave. Let's go."

The boy stood still, his arms crossed and his cheek thrust forward, looking intently at Batman.

"I said let's go, Robin. What did you think of the grapple hook gun?" Batman said, trying for a distraction.

Robin walked stiffly against him, arms still crossed.

"It does have a fantastic range, just as you said. But it's still way too bulky to carry along every day, I should say. What did you hear about the lighthouse?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now."'

"… And I bet you're not going to want to talk about it when we come back to the cave, either."

"… Robin…"

"I don't know what's come over you, Batman! It's obvious you're avoiding telling me things, all of a sudden. I don't… Did I do something wrong? Why don't you trust me any more?"

"Robin! To the car – now!"

The boy glared before turning his back and, once more, jumping over the edge of the building. This time it took several seconds before Batman heard the reassuring sound of a grapple hook gun firing.

God, what am I doing, Batman though, squeezing his eyes shut.

The unfortunate truth was that even if he were prepared to accept his new reality, the same could not be said about his protégé. The more he tried to keep the Dick safe, the more upset the boy seemed to get – and an angry Dick Grayson was a more reckless Dick Grayson. For a moment he feared that Robin would dissolve their partnership even before they had parted ways in his own time.

No, I still have time to fix it, he thought stubbornly. He'll forgive me; he always does, I just need to find the right balance between keeping him busy and safe.

* * *

Inspired _by "One drown… one more to go", written by Frank Robbins, in Detective Comics # 381. Frank Robbins is one of my favourite Batman writers, so I was glad to find one story I could incorporate in my fic. Have a look at_

 _tumbler /blog /_ northoftheroad


	15. Chapter 15

"Back early again, sir?"

"Hm. I'll solve this case faster after some research."

"Has there been a significant upgrade of the software that I am not aware of?"

"… What do you mean?"

"You didn't use to be this eager to work from the computer, sir."

"… I have it for a purpose, Alfred," Batman countered; emitting to say that in this particular instance, the purpose was to stall and keep Robin off the streets.

"It is unfortunate that your newfound appreciation for computer sleuthing seems to coincide with tiffs with the young master. You are going to have to increase the budget for replacing gym equipment."

"…"

"May one inquire what happened today?" said Alfred, permitting a tone of resignation to seep into his voice.

"… Nothing. Robin is annoyed I cut the patrol short and that we didn't chase after the lead straight away. He will need to learn to be more patient."

"I'm certain he will, sir, with the right kind of teaching."

"…"

"Seeing as you don't need me for anything, I will return to my duties upstairs, sir. Do let me know if you require an evening meal later on."

"… Thank you, Alfred."

The fact was that there was very little the Batcomputer of this time could tell him that he didn't already know. He remembered who the ringleader was and where the man had his headquarter, after all.

It almost pained him to think it, but right now, it would be easier to work without a Robin. He wouldn't have to explain to the police how he solved the cases and Alfred didn't follow his work in detail. All he had to do was to go to the lighthouse and expose the evidence. But the boy would want to know exactly how he found out that Captain Spume was the gang boss and not a victim.

And there would be many more instances like this when he knew what he should do but didn't know how to justify it. In some cases, it would be easy to replicate some of what had happened the first time. In others, he would have to put more work into finding an excuse than he initially had to solve the case…

Unless, of course, he found a way to keep Dick otherwise occupied. As himself or as Robin; extra training or studying, with the Teen Titans, other interests, or even plain forbid him from going out. But if there were one lesson he had learned the hard way over the years, it was that trying to prevent Dick from going out as Robin only led to the boy getting into more danger.

He could, of course, propose to Dick that he went abroad for special training. There were a fair number of martial arts experts that the boy could learn a lot from, as Bruce had done when he was younger – and as he had sent Tim away to do when he became Robin.

But he had been nowhere near as young as Dick when he left to train abroad. And the thought of Wayne Mansion going back to being an empty and silent shell of a home made him shy away from that solution. To have only one boy was bad enough; to not even have him would be unbearable.

Which meant that he was back at square one. He needed to find the right excuse to get to the end of the chase.

Batman would have preferred to sneak into the lighthouse by himself. But in truth, since he permitted the boy to accompany him fighting crime in Gotham on an almost daily basis, he could hardly refuse to bring Robin on cases when he remembered what had happened. By all accounts, it should be less dangerous when he knew what to expect.

Besides, this case was comparatively straightforward. All he needed to do was to pretend he had dug up some information on the Batcomputer that warranted that they staked out the lighthouse; surely they would find evidence that the Captain was the criminal soon enough.

Batman rose from the chair and walked over to the training area, pulling up the cowl as he went. He already knew, from the sounds that came over the cave, that Robin had stopped working out with the boxing ball and went up in the trapeze.

He bit down a stern reprimand; Robin knew that he wasn't supposed to fly when no-one was spotting him, but on the other hand, it was usually the best way for him to shake a bad temper. It would be better to let it slide, this time.

"Robin," he said, waiting for the boy to look at him before he continued, "I'm done with my research, and I'm heading for the lighthouse. Will you accompany me?"

This time he had certainly found the magic words, Batman thought wryly. He could see the way the boy's brow eased all the way from where he stood.

"Ab-so-lutely," Robin confirmed, nodding eagerly. "I'll be down in a second."

The boy used his body weight to get the trapeze swinging and worked his way down by flying from one bar to another, each lower than the other, and ended with a somersault and a roll on the floor. When he walked over to Batman, he had a spring in his steps that hadn't been there when they returned about an hour earlier.

Batman nodded curtly.

"As I said, we're going to the lighthouse, but we're not using the front door. Between what I picked up on the radio earlier, and what I've found out here, I know someone is making use of it to plan robberies. Do you remember the infrared glasses you found a while ago?"

"Yeah?"

"Someone is using the lighthouse to send messages by infrared light. We're going in to listen, and search, without alerting anyone."

"Even if Captain Spume is the only one there?"

"Yes. It's important that we don't alert anyone we're there, not even the Captain. He might be under duress, after all, or he might even be a part of the gang. Do you understand?"

"… Sure."

"We will not announce ourselves to anyone until I say so. Is that clear?"

"… I don't know why you all of a sudden make it sound as if I don't follow your orders, Batman! Have I disobeyed you lately and forgotten about it?"

"…"

"Because if I haven't, I don't understand why you're talking like that. Of course, I'll follow your lead. I always do! At least, almost always… And if I don't, I usually have a reason..."

Batman didn't really have a good answer to that. The young Robin was indeed far more likely to obey orders than his adult self; and yet, he was also more likely to get hurt simply because he was less experienced.

He settled on a curt nod.

"Noted. Get the glasses and wait for me in the boat. I'll tell Alfred we're heading out again."

* * *

The lighthouse was situated on a small island outside Gotham, only a short trip with the speedboat from the waterway running out of the cave. Batman took care to close in on the island from the seaside where they wouldn't blacken the lights from the city and cut the motor as far away as possible to avoid alerting anyone. They fastened the boat and kept still for quite some time, to make sure that no-one was waiting for them.

Eventually, he signed for Robin to follow him onto the Island. He knew that the gang used a remote-controlled scuba-motor to bring the loot from their robberies into the lighthouse and that Cyrus Spume controlled the operations from the lighthouse. They could either start their search in the cave under the lighthouse, to see if they could spot any sign of the operations, or monitor Spume and hopefully overhear him with the rest of the gang.

He considered. To find a scuba-motor with loot would tie the lighthouse to the robberies, but not Spume. On the other hand, if he and Robin could hear Spume incriminate himself, they could easily pick up the evidence in the cave later.

He turned to Robin and spoke in a low voice.

"I want to ascertain whether Captain Spume is involved or not. I'm going to scale the lighthouse from the outside and stay outside the window in case anything happens. I want you to keep watch outside his cottage."

"Do you really think he could be involved? You've known him for years."

"That doesn't mean he's exempt from being scrutinised," Batman replied.

It wasn't the first time someone that he called a friend had turned to crime, after all – neither would it be the last. He was aware that some people thought that was being paranoid, but he knew better than to believe that people never changed.

"Take up position, and be careful not to be seen. If something happens, record whatever you can and call me."

"Right, Batman," the boy said and slipped away into the darkness.

Batman considered the lighthouse for some time, trying to remember what would be the best window to see Spume with some of his men if they would meet up inside the lighthouse. Once he had decided on his goal, he made his way to the building and brought out a batarang to throw a line.

He had left the grappling hook gun in the cave; it wasn't silent enough for this kind of operation. Yet another piece of equipment that needed improving before he could use it as he were accustomed to. But he had managed with batarangs when he started his career, and it would have to do for the time being.

Soon he had made a place for himself below the walk around the beacon where he could hear if someone were talking. Odds were that Robin would spot something first from his position outside Spume's cabin, but he preferred not to have the boy climbing the building and risk falling if something were to happen.

Batman made himself as comfortable as he could. This might take hours – a large part of his brand of detective work involved stakeouts. Robin – Dick – had always had an aversion towards that part of their job, since it included sitting still for long periods of time. Batman's features relaxed into a near smile when he thought about how even as Nightwing, surveillance was one of Dick's least favourite parts of the job.

It was almost two hours later when he got a signal from Robin; a brief whisper about two men coming up from a door in the floor into the hut. Batman acknowledged the message and quietly started lowering himself to ground level, and from there made his way over to the small house where he sat down beside Robin to listen to the conversation inside.

"… the brat didn't take the bait, but perhaps they haven't figured it out? None of the caped misfits was around when we lifted the diamonds from the Hoogstram tonight," said a voice he didn't recognise.

"They'll get there eventually. Batman's not the type who gives in," replied the voice of Cyrus Spume.

The old captain had retired from the sea six months ago – and went straight into a life of crime while masquerading as keeper of the lighthouse.

Robin tapped him lightly on the arm, and when he looked up, the boy used sign language to tell him that the man had talked about having the loot downstairs. Batman was in the clear – there was enough evidence to get a conviction without awkward explanations about how he knew that Spume was leading the gang.

He signalled to ask how many people Robin had heard in the room and got "three" for an answer. And Albatross – Spum's pet seal – the boy added with a quick grin.

"Count to thirty, then crash the window. I'll go in by the door," Batman ordered.

Robin gave a thumbs-up and turned towards the window while his mentor slipped away. Half a minute later, the inhabitants of the cabin were showered with glass shards when the boy wonder kicked out the window and jumped in; Batman came in through the door as soon as he heard the sound of breaking glass.

The battle was ridiculously quick and easy; the three unprepared men were no match for the duo, and none of them even managed to get a gun out before they were knocked down.

"Call the GCPD on the radio, Robin. I'll make sure they're not going anywhere."

"Roger that, Batman," the boy said, moving over to the large radio equipment.

Batman started to draw out his line from the utility belt to secure the prisoners. He still hadn't been able to find plastic ties of the type he had been using for handcuffs for the last years, and the belt didn't hold enough cuffs for a bust like this.

He tied the men's hands behind their backs and secured them to the massive table that Spume used for his chess set, nudging the curious seal away when it tried to get a taste of the line.

"I'm sorry you choose to end your career like this, Spume," he said, standing up and looking down at the old sea captain.

"I always intended to continue as skipper on my own bridge, Batman. And 'ts been profitable too, using m' long-distance chess games to dig info from ship's operators. Gossip's a grand way to get the leads I needed to strike rich."

"You've been robbing ships for several months. You conspired to murder Robin. You'll never walk free again in your life," Batman said, quietly. "I don't see how any kind of profit would be worth that."

"You take your chances, Batman. You weigh the good against the bad, and you stand by your decision. It's the same on the command bridge as in that fancy car of yours, I wager. Sometimes you get through the monster wave, and sometimes it will sink you."

Batman turned away from the man he had thought of as a friend; he hoped the police would make good time, he couldn't wait to leave the place.

Robin came over and reported that the police were on their way. Then he looked over to the three men and said:

"I have to admit, Batman, I've been sceptical of your newfound obsession with computer work. But if you can find what we need for this kind of result in an hour, count me in."


	16. Chapter 16

Never mind how much a figurehead Bruce Wayne was supposed to be, he still needed to put in a certain amount of time to keep abreast of the family company. Now that he had decided to stay in this time, it felt even more important, and he remained in his study doing actual upstairs work for several hours the following day. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the front door opening that he glanced at the ornate clock behind him – one of the many artefacts inherited from his ancestors that cluttered the manor – and realised that it was already time for lunch. Alfred had left the house to do some errands several hours ago, and it seemed he had only just returned.

Bruce put down his fountain pen on the remaining papers and headed out from the study to see what was going on. He found Alfred inside the front door, working intensely on his striped trousers with a brush.

"What happened to you, Alfred? Are you all right?" Bruce asked curiously, while he walked down the staircase.

"I'm perfectly fine, sir. The only thing that has been hurt is my dignity. I'm very sorry the lunch will be a tad late – would you like a snack while you wait?"

It wasn't until the butler had stopped brushing dirt from his ordinarily impeccable trousers and looked up that Bruce could see that his surrogate father had been on the receiving end of a hit. He stopped for a second in the middle of the staircase, staring, before he took the remaining steps in a few, long leaps and rushed up to Alfred.

"Never mind lunch, Alfred! Sit down and tell me what happened. Dick and I can make lunch."

The butler stiffened perceptibly, and his eyes widened.

"Absolutely not, sir! I am perfectly capable of performing my duties. If you would just… Oh, I say!"

He didn't get to finish the sentence when Bruce took a firm grip of his shoulders and gently pushed him down into a chair.

"I'm not letting you up until you tell me why your clothes are dirty and you have a cut on your jaw and a bruise forming on your cheek, Alfred," Bruce growled. "And for your information, I am perfectly capable of feeding my family."

"The last time I was away for more than two days, you admitted you ordered pizza when you didn't want to take one of my pre-cooked meals from the freezer. Sir."

"I never admitted anything of the sort!"

"My mistake, Master Bruce. Master Richard admitted…"

Blast that kid – he really needed to up his lessons in lying.

Before Bruce could come up with his next line of defence, he picked up the sound of light, running steps from above the grand staircase. The footsteps stopped and were replaced by a whooshing sound; from experience, he knew that Dick was sliding the last distance.

Which usually ended with the boy doing some crazy stunt to get downstairs, instead of walking down the steps like a sensible person. Bruce opened his mouth to give a stern warning, but too late; the boy glided into his vision at the top of the staircase, did a volt over the parapet to land with his feet on the bannister and slid down, ending with another volt to land in a typical showman pose, arms outstretched.

"Alfred, there you are! I wondered…" Dick stopped himself, looked carefully at the butler, and continued in the same breath, "Alfie, what happened? Are you all right?"

"Dick! What if it had been a visitor and not Alfred… What would they think?!"

"… That you brought a circus acrobat into your house, Bruce… Geez, relax! Alfie, how are you?"

"Perfectly fine, Master Richard. Disregarding that you almost gave me a heart attack, getting down in that outrageously dangerous way."

"What happened to you?"

Alfred heaved a sigh.

"I suppose I will not get a minute's rest until I tell you… I was downtown for a few errands and took a shortcut over Robinson park when I came upon a ruffian harassing a lovely young woman. I interfered, but he was quicker than I had anticipated and got in a hit. However, it turned out that the young lady was perfectly capable of handling bullies on her own. Her name was Shirley Holmes, Police sergeant."

"Good for her," Dick put in with a grin. "But I'm sure she appreciated your gallant effort, Alfie."

"Indeed, she did. The young lady was most gracious. But enough about my silly escapade; if you let me pass, I will make myself presentable and get started on lunch."

"Why don't you rest, Alfie, while Bruce and I fix something to eat."

"I already tried that, Dick…" said Bruce with a sigh, at the same time as Alfred sharply answered, "Indeed not, Master Richard. Do you wish to put me in the unemployment line?"

"My mum used to make a casserole with whatever was left in the refrigerator, to make sure we didn't waste. It always turned out great, with horseradish or garlic. Or sometimes oil and runny honey. I bet I could do something like that."

Alfred pursed his lips and gave the eager boy a long look.

"You're not seriously considering it, Alfred! You told me to take a hike!" Bruce protested.

"I would never use such crude words, Master Bruce. And it would be a good thing, to encourage young Master Richard to learn how to cook. It would be a shame if he turned out like you… Sir. However… Richard, you may go to the kitchen and bring out some ingredients for a casserole, while I go and freshen up. Master Bruce will help you chop it. But you may not start cooking before I get there."

"Sure thing, Alfred. Come on, Bruce!" the boy said, hurrying towards the kitchen.

Bruce looked after him with a head shake and a fond smile.

"No stress, Alfred. I'll keep him in line until you feel up to joining us."

* * *

Most of the time, the Dynamic duo went out to watch over Gotham city once darkness had fallen, when ordinary shops and workplaces had closed and been replaced by a nightlife that only partly took place within the confines of the laws. They seldom went out when the sun still lit the sky over Gotham city, unless there was a compelling reason – such as a call from Jim Gordon or that Batman wanted to drop in while the commissioner was still in his office.

There was something about Alfred's story about Shirley Holmes, policewoman, that made him want to do that today. There was a story connected to that name, somewhere in his past; but what, he couldn't remember.

After lunch, which he did not doubt would have been ready to eat considerably earlier if Dick hadn't been so keen to help, he took the boy with him to the cave. After a few hours of workout and training, they headed out while the sun was still hanging just above the horizon.

With the Batmobile parked in one of the alleys not too far away from the Police headquarter, the duo made their way over the rooftops to the commissioner's office where Jim Gordon was comparing some paper notes with information on his computer screen, occasionally running his fingers through his grey hair. They silently made their entrance through the window, as always, and waited for Gordon to notice them.

The man flinched, a few seconds later, but managed to keep his voice under control when he turned his office chair to face them.

"Batman… To what do I owe the pleasure today?"

"I just wanted to know if there is anything… unusual going on."

"Well, I wasn't going to call you in for this one, but since you're asking… We're having a regular epidemic of confidence rackets in this town," Commissioner Gordon complained, scratching the back of his neck.

Police woman Shirley Holmes… An epidemic of rackets… Memories started to come together in Batman's brain. The way he remembered, Robin and he had picked up a pair of con-men before he heard of the big scale of the operation. That must have happened during an early evening patrol.

Gordon looked expectantly at him; the man probably took his thoughtful silence as a sign that the Batman had an idea.

"Hmh. Odd – perhaps the racketeers are organised on a large scale."

"Exactly," Gordon agreed. "We've questioned those arrested, but it's no good. They don't talk. The Mayor's been on my back all day."

Batman thought quickly about what he could recall about the case. They had asked Sergeant Holmes to go undercover in the organisation, to get a lead on the boss. Batman and Robin chasing her – under the name "Oyster Annie" – into a known criminal haunt had been her entrance ticket to the gang. Then, a chance meeting with Alfred, who hadn't been informed of her undercover work, had made them doubt her and take her to the boss. But Holmes had managed to leave a trail for Batman and Robin – and Alfred – to follow, and together they had taken care of the swindle chief and his entourage.

He could go straight for the chief's hideout. Find some pretence that he could use to explain to Robin how he found the way to the gang's headquarter.

But Sergeant Holmes had made an impression, on that case; he knew it would be important for her future career in the Police force. Still, there was no need to go through the whole ordeal. He would give her a tracker to activate once she found the headquarter. It might take a little longer than the last time since she had been hauled directly to the boss when the gang got suspicious, but it was less risky.

"I have an idea how we can get a lead on the gang. Tell me, Commissioner; do you know where to find Sergeant Shirley Holmes?"

* * *

Late in the evening the day after, the door to a shady bar on the edge of the Crime Alley area in Gotham swung hastily open, and a young woman ran in, breathing heavily.

"Fer gosh sakes… Hide me… Quick… The Batman's after me…"

One of the men sitting at a table close to the door looked her over, carefully, and then turned to the bartender.

"Go ahead, Ed. Front for her."

The bartender grunted, caught the woman's eye and nodded towards a door on the far side of the bar. She hastily made her way there, threw the door open and rushed inside, carefully closing it behind her.

A few moments after, Batman and Robin stood inside the bar; having entered quickly and silently enough that the clientele hardly noticed how it happened. The bar fell silent when all eyes were drawn to the newcomers, and after a short while Batman spoke in a low and growling voice, "Did a woman run in here?"

The customers looked away from the crimefighting duo. The bartender's eyes flickered between the bar counter and the unwelcome visitors when he answered, "A goil? I don't know! I didn't see! I wiz too busy playing tiddly-winks."

Batman slowly walked up to the bar counter and loomed over the bartender, staring him down for several seconds before he said, "I'm not in the mood for jokes. Did. A. Woman. Run. In. Here."

Robin stayed inside the door and looked around the place, calling out, "Well, did anyone see her."

The customers stared everywhere but at the crimefighting duo while the bartender swallowed and lowered his eyes but kept quiet.

Eventually, one of the men said, without looking up, "Naw. We ain't seen nobody come in."

Batman let his silence fill the bar for a while longer before he turned, with a dramatic swoosh of his cape, and spoke over the room.

"In case Oyster Annie comes by, tell her to get an honest job and forget her swindle racket." Then he slowly made his way back to the door and went out with Robin at his heels.

The duo silently made their way to the Batmobile that was parked a block away. Once the car had started moving, Robin turned to Batman.

"Now what, Batman?"

"Now we wait for Shirley Holmes to do her job. It will no doubt take her a few days to get into the gang and get a lead on the boss."

"And you gave her a tracking device to activate once she has a lead on the boss."

"Hm."

"Was there anything else in that wristwatch? Apart from the tracker?"

"… Hm?"

"I saw you tinker with that watch for quite some time. Just an ordinary tracker shouldn't take so much time. You also gave her a pair of pretty elaborate earrings that you did some work on too. What was it?"

"There's a radio transmitter in the watch. The signal isn't strong, but whenever possible, the Batmobile or the Batcomputer will record whatever it picks up."

"And the earrings?"

"An extra tracker that will enable us to locate her, if we don't hear from her."

"You did tell her, right? I mean, she knows you can be listening in to everything she says? Or does?"

"Hm."

"… Is that a yes or a no? I'm still trying to learn the difference."

"I did tell her she has a transmitter on her; best case scenario, we will have recordings to help the court case. And you missed the key ring. There's another tracker in there."

"Three trackers and a transmitter… Aren't you going overboard, Batman?"

"There is no such thing as being too prepared, Robin. How would you feel, if her life was in danger and we missed our chance to help her because the gang found and disposed of the only tracker she had?"

"… I guess. But you've never used three trackers on anyone that I know of before. It's not because she's a lady cop, is it?"

"No. And it will not be the last time I use more than two trackers on a person. That way, there is a reasonable chance that at least one of them is functioning and still in her or his possession if we need to find them."

"And a transmitter…"

"And at least one transmitter."

"Gosh, Batman. And just a few weeks ago, you shrugged it off when the radio in my belt buckle was damaged at the beginning of patrol."

Batman made an annoyed grunt – that wasn't going to happen again, any time soon, he vowed to himself.

Robin was resting one arm on the door, and his head in the hand, looking straight at Batman.

"I always thought you've been, like, crazy prepared. But you're taking it to a whole new level, lately…"

* * *

 _Referencing: Shirley Holmes, Policewoman, in Batman # 28. Writer Bill Finger, artist Jerry Robinson._

 _There are a few panels on my Tumbler, /blog/northoftheroad_


	17. Chapter 17

One minute, he was in control. The next, everything was falling to pieces.

Batman had gone out with Robin on a routine patrol after a day spent mostly by the computer, writing down everything he could think of that would help him make a better future than the one he had lived through. Even if he still didn't know exactly how to best help people, remembering the dry facts would help when the time came.

Where to look for Cassandra and Jason. To make sure that Joker was locked up or, at least, otherwise engaged, exactly when he was set to knock on Gordon's door and when he went out to kidnap the Thomas family. See to it that Dick was far away from the murderous clown that time he got shot; the incident that had led to Batman firing him.

And all the murders and crimes he could prevent if he could remember when it happened or who the perpetrator was and take them off the street in time. Take care of The Key before he got a chance to use his psycho-chemical on the Justice League. Find the German war criminal Colonel Kurt Schloss before the hunt for him killed four people. Bring in Malcolm Merlyn and get to Jim Condors before he attacked Robin as revenge for putting his brother in jail. Prevent Deems Davis from blackmailing Matt Whitson, which would lead to Whitson murdering several people. Put an early stop to Slade Wilson's career as Deathstroke and intercept Bane's supply of the Venom drug.

On the more personal side, he was sorely tempted to smack some sense into Oliver Queen's head long before the archer went out on an overlong road trip with Hal Jordan and one of the Guardians from Oa. Bruce was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't, on the whole, a much better guardian than Ollie, what with everything he had let happen to the children he had undertaken to protect. But if he had a chance to do better with his protégés, Roy would benefit from that too.

To put a stop to as many of Ra's as Gul's crimes as possible also went up on the list – for instance, when the man harvested professor Masons Sterling's brain and kept it alive. Actually, stopping Ra's al Ghul, period, would be nice, but that might more than he could hope to achieve. Besides, he would need to tread carefully when it came to the al Ghul's if he wanted to see a future where Damian was born.

It was already a long list, and still nowhere near complete. Dick had made a few jokes about his newfound obsession with the computer during the day and been mildly curious about what he was writing, but he had been easily distracted.

The last few cases had, as far as Batman was concerned, proved that he could make a difference by staying here and take advantage of what he knew. He would be even more effective once he had sorted out everything he could remember of the future that was never going to be.

Once out on their routine evening patrol, it didn't take Batman and Robin long to spot an ongoing crime. Nothing out of the ordinary; half a dozen men who had broken into a bank and were working their way into the vault that contained safe-deposit boxes and the bank's reserves.

He didn't remember exactly what was going to happen, but just as on earlier occasions, it all felt familiar, and he did recall bits and pieces. When he saw one of the gang whip out a handgun, he instantly knew that the man was going to shoot at him but that Robin was going to push him out of the way of the bullet, only to have his scalp grazed by the shot.

Concussions could be far more dangerous than most people thought and Batman intended to make sure the shot would miss them both. He glanced around and, right enough, saw Robin throw himself in Batman's direction as the man pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.

This time, Batman was prepared. He caught the boy in his arms and swung around to get both of them out of the bullet's trajectory, keeping his eyes on the shooter to be ready to dodge again if he needed before he could throw a batarang and disarm the man.

He didn't even see it happen; just felt Robin jerk and heard him gasp. When he looked down, a knife was embedded in the boy's lower back.

Robin looked more surprised than in pain; as if he couldn't understand what had happened. A good portion of the knife was protruding outside – it was a relief that the wound wasn't deeper, but it also meant that the blade might easily move, and Batman knew that every movement could cause further damage and considerable pain. He needed to keep the boy still and secure the knife, but he could no neither as long as they were surrounded by thugs, circling like sharks that had tasted the first drop of blood.

Batman hastily lowered Robin to the floor, put him down on his stomach, and with a curt but probably superfluous, "don't move", he rose to take care of the bank-robbers.

His first batarang embedded itself deep in gun-hand of the man who had shot at him; the second in the arm of a man who was raising a crowbar over his head, preparing to attack. Then he took a few seconds to let his eyes roam over the remaining men.

So far, his time in the past had involved easier fights than he had become accustomed to later in life. He might have been a skilled fighter even at this age, but he had picked up considerably more during the years to come – not least on how to fight brutally and make sure his opponents stayed down.

Half a dozen bank-robbers, two already writhing in pain with batarangs lodged in their flesh, were not exactly worthy opponents, but with a knife sticking out of his young partner, he had no qualms about being too hard on them.

The robbers, who had been closing in on him, hesitated; as if they could suddenly pick up that this had been a very, very bad idea. Batman took advantage of their uncertainty; in an instant, he was close enough to one of them to knock him out with a hard uppercut under his chin.

It felt good to let loose on the rest of the men, who had neither the skill nor the speed to put up much of a resistance when he continued the attack, more vicious than anything since his encounter with the Joker. He turned at the man who had thrown the knife first, delivering a front kick followed up by a knife hand strike to the man's neck.

The most adventurous of the gang tried to sneak up him while he was dealing with the knife thrower, but Batman stopped him in his tracks with an elbow strike aimed backwards, threw him to the ground with a hip throw and rendered him unconscious with a kick to the head.

The two remaining unhurt men, together with the man with a batarang in his hand, had by now turned on their heels and started running out of the room; it only took Batman a few running steps to catch up with them, and he used his momentum to push all three of them straight into a wall.

The only man still standing was clutching his wounded arm, staring dazedly at his fallen friends. Batman was in no mood to leave someone standing, and he knocked the man out with a determined punch.

Breathing heavily, more of released anger than physical exertion, he turned to glance at the boy – and winced when he saw how Robin was looking at him. Even through the obvious pain on the boy's face, he could see an almost wary look, as if an unusually brutal Batman was more frightening than being on the wrong end of a knife.

When Robin noticed that he was being studied, he tried for a weak smile and said, "I'm okay, Batman. You'd better tie the goons up."

He ignored the sensible advice and with a few long strides, he was sitting beside the boy, studying him and feeling the pulse. It was faster than usual, but he had no way of telling if that was an effect of adrenalin, pain or internal bleeding. As long as he left the knife where it was, Robin would at least not lose much blood that way.

Batman silently cursed that he had no means of calling the police in the old suit; he needed to do something about the knife before he could move Robin, but he also had to tie up the robbers and summon the police. He wouldn't have hesitated to leave the men as they were, even if it meant that they could escape, if he could have taken Robin away instantly. But first, he needed to make sure he could move the boy without causing further damage, and he couldn't let the robbers be loose to perhaps attack again.

If the bank had had a decent alarm, the police would already be on their way, but that was obviously hoping for too much. There should be an ordinary telephone somewhere by the cashier's desk, though. Batman rose and jumped over the screen and counter, found the phone and turned the dial with the number to the police headquarter. When the desk sergeant answered, he brusquely said, "This is Batman. There has been an attempted break-in at First National, Andru Street. Pick up the trash," before slamming the handset down again, ending the call.

He proceeded to tie up the men as fast as he could with the line from his utility belt; then he hurried back to Robin and sat down beside the boy.

* * *

 _All of the characters and cases Batman thinks about are from the comics. With the exception of Deathstroke and Bane, this chapter references:_

 _Detective Comics # 374_

 _Batman # 188, 237, 240_

 _Green Lantern # 76-86 (Ollie's and Hal's road trip)_

 _JLA # 41_

 _The bank robbery, on the other hand, I had to make up because I couldn't find exactly what I needed. But Robin pushing Batman out of the way is from "Jesse James Rides Again", the Batman and Robin Sundays, January-February 1944. The panel is on my Tumblr blog._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	18. Chapter 18

The knife had hit Robin in the lower back, a bit to the side of the spine. With luck, it would have missed the kidney as well as major arteries and veins. Batman knew that he had to let the knife remain where it was, to prevent the wound from bleeding, but it would be nearly impossible to move Robin comfortably with the knife sticking out of his back. The best he could do was to cut off part of the knife with the laser torch in his utility belt, stabilise what was left of the blade, and let the boy rest on his side in the Batmobile.

He went to work as gently as he could, grinding his teeth harder for each time the boy whimpered or flinched. But he wasn't going to provide any thug that happened to be conscious with more of a show than necessary and refrained from asking Robin how he felt or try to console him with platitudes.

When he was finished, he crouched and spoke softly.

"I'm going to lift you up, chum. I know it's going to hurt, but hang in there; we'll get help for you in no time."

Robin made a short, jerking movement of his head and grunted; the non-verbal communication was a sure sign that he was far from his usual self. Besides the fast pulse, his skin had started to become cold, and his eyes were beginning to close more and more often.

Stab wounds were treacherous; he knew that. For all that the boy was conscious and the relative absence of blood loss, it could still be lethal.

"Easy now," Batman whispered, as he carefully lifted the boy to cradle him in his arms while he walked out to the Batmobile. Robin squirmed a bit when they got there, as if wanting to get down and sit on his own, but he kept a firm grip.

"I'm going to put you down on your side. It's not going to be comfortable, but it's important that you stay still and avoid aggravating the wound. Concentrate on your breathing. Can you do that?"

"… Mhmm. All right."

He put Robin in place and propped him up him with inflatable pillows before strapping him in. When he drove the Batmobile away from the bank he could see the flashing lights of police cars in the rear mirror; he ignored them and called Alfred on the radio.

"Sir?"

He wanted to stall, to save Alfred from the knowledge of what had happened a few more moments, and to avoid hearing the silent accusation in his father figure's voice over how he had let the boy get hurt. But it was better to take the plunge and get it over with.

"Robin is hurt. It's too long a drive home; I'm taking him to the Free Clinic. Please call Leslie."

"… Is he… What will the doctor need to prepare for?"

"Stab wound, lower back. The knife didn't go in all the way, thanks to the vest, but I don't know how deep it is. He's conscious and clear."

"I'll call her immediately. Please keep me informed."

"Of course."

The streets of Gotham were half empty, and it wouldn't take them long to reach the Free clinic, but it was the first time since the incident that Batman wasn't too occupied to think. Keeping busy was infinitely preferable to the feeling of remorse and anger that washed over him.

It might have been much, much worse, but Robin's injury was his fault – it was as simple as that. He had let himself become so caught up in his memories that he forgot to focus on what was going on around him; getting Robin away from the gunshot was all that he had thought about, and he had missed what the other men were up to. If he had used his eyes, he would have seen the man preparing to throw a knife. He was The Dark Knight, dammit – he could multitask.

He needed to let go of what he remembered and live in the present instead of his past if he were to be any good to anyone. His life here wouldn't be like a retake of a film scene where everyone follows the same script, over and over again; there was no guarantee that all involved would act precisely – and only – as he remembered.

When the Batmobile pulled up by the back entrance to the Free Clinic, doctor Leslie Thompkins stood outside, waiting for them. She had saved Dick's life before, and his too – but she never approved of the Batman and definitely not of his habit to bring children into his nightlife. Now, more than ever, he was inclined to agree with her.

He stopped the car, pressed the button to open the doors and gave Robin a quick glance. The boy was pale, and his eyes half closed, but he was breathing steadily. When Leslie came up to him, he murmured, "Hi, Leslie".

"I'll carry him," Batman said, moving over to the other side of the car. He gently picked up Robin and walked into the clinic – the sad truth was that he knew exactly where he was going and where to put the boy down, and not only because Wayne money financed the clinic. He even knew where to find a special pair of scissors to use on the reinforced vest.

He cautiously cut the clothes away to expose what was left of the knife while Leslie picked up her instruments and adjusted the lights. From the outside, it didn't look too bad; unless the blade was extra long, the wound was shallower than he had feared.

He took a few steps away to let Leslie get access to her patient, and stood in silent vigil while she did her job, assisting the few times she asked him to perform a task.

IV line, local anaesthetic, visual examination, removal of what was left of the blade, cleaning, irrigating and a few stitches. Usually, Batman would study every movement the doctor made and monitor every piece of equipment, but this time he felt strangely removed from the situation. As if he was looking at the rerun of an old movie, not something that was happening right now. In his mind, he kept going back to his mistake – getting stuck in his own memories.

Leslie finished her work by fastening a compress over the wound, ruffled Robin's hair and said:

"You'll be all right, sweetheart. Just rest while I speak to Batman outside, all right?"

"M'kay."

She walked against the door without even glancing at Batman, expecting him to follow. He took a moment, trying to find the right words for Robin, finally settling on, "You did good, tonight, chum. We'll soon get you home," before following Leslie out.

She waited for him some distance away from the room where Robin was, looking at him with her customary steady gaze.

"You're unusually rattled, Batman. It's certainly not the most serious injury he's had as Robin; I would have expected you to wave it away as a mere scratch. I'm grateful that you're not doing your normal routine of downplaying injuries, of course, but I'm curious why…"

Leslie was right, of course. During Dick's time as Robin, this wound wouldn't even make the top ten. But it had been something of a shock to realise that by avoiding something he remembered, he had caused something a more severe injury – and it could easily have been even worse. All it would have taken was an inch further in, and Dick could have been dead by now.

Not that he could tell her that; but he needed to say something. Leslie would not accept his customary grunts for an answer.

"… It took me by surprise. I was afraid it was significantly deeper."

She looked strangely at him and stayed silent for a good half minute.

"Every time one of you gets hurt, I curse myself for failing you when you were a boy. If I had done my job properly, I would have made sure you got the therapy you needed, whatever you said at the time. And it's obvious I won't get through to Robin either. I wish I knew what to do…"

You should try some time-travel, it will open your eyes in a lot of ways, he thought wryly – but stayed silent. Leslie wouldn't expect an answer this time, anyway.

"Much as I always enjoy having a conversation with you, I suggest you call… for assistance and ask him to come with a car big enough for Robin to lie down. And bring him back to me for a check-up later. I know our mutual friend is perfectly qualified, but as long as he's my patient, I want to keep an eye on him."

"Of course… Thank you, Leslie."

Leslie gave him a tired smile and walked away. Batman turned towards the back door to call Alfred from the car – he was taking no chances with the ordinary telephone lines – and ask him to come around with a convenient – and anonymous – car.

He walked slowly, not being able to shake the chilling realisation that he had fooled himself that his memories would put him in control. Remembering what was going to happen was no guarantee that one step in the wrong direction would not result in a completely different outcome than what he recalled.

If Dick had been killed... What kind of future would he have had here?

* * *

 _Okay, we all know that the utility belt is basically a miniature Tardis, right? Bigger on the inside and somehow, always carrying exactly what is essential for the adventure at hand. Whether it's a microscope, laser torch, shark repellent (yes, it was in a comic long before the TV show!), several batarangs, chemicals, first aid... Or grappling guns with an unlimited supply of hooks and lines. (I've always thought that the grappling guns are one of the most improbable parts of Bat-lore, by the way. Right up there with Alfred's capacity to take care of the manor, the cave, and the Bat-family, seemingly without even a gardener to help him.)_

 _Do have a look at my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog /_ northoftheroad


	19. Chapter 19

Robin was going to be out of commission for at least two weeks; if the wound healed well, Bruce had promised that Dick would be permitted to come down to the cave and train earlier than that. Until then, he was confined to the Manor.

Bruce, on the other hand, preferred to stay in the cave, where he could avoid the sometimes weary glances Dick gave him the first few days after the incident. His more than usual ruthless fighting in the bank hall had probably rattled the boy, again. Dick had challenged Batman's brutality regularly over the years, but in his own time, the boy had at least been well into his teenage years when it first happened. He felt sure that it would come earlier, this time.

But the most important reason that Batman didn't let his protégé keep him company in the cave was that he needed space to think. He had fooled himself that he was in control and that he could make sure the boy was spared a lot of the injuries that he remembered; instead, it had been his own actions that put Robin in harm's way.

He wished that he could believe that forcing Dick to retire from Robin would make a difference; but he had been there and done that, more than once, and it never turned out well – for either of them.

Briefly, he thought about looking for Jason or Cassandra, to give Dick a younger sibling to care for… But he quickly dismissed the idea; to take in another child under these circumstances would probably make the boy think that Bruce intended to replace him. With the advantage of hindsight, he supposed that it was natural enough for Dick, having lost his family and everything that was connected with home once, to fear losing everything again. He should let Dick approve if he wanted to take in another child. If he went about it the right way, that wouldn't be a problem; of that, he felt certain.

And besides, he still believed that the best thing for Jason and the others would be that he helped them live normal lives, away from Wayne Manor and the vigilante life.

As long as he was committed to staying here, all he could do was to make sure he kept his head in the present, not in his memories, and double his efforts to keep the original Robin safe.

While Dick was recuperating – bitterly complaining about boredom – up in the Manor, Batman took full advantage of the fact that while he was alone, he didn't have to worry about explaining how he knew certain things. Such as that a group of what appeared to be young boys stealing from the Radium institute meant that he could pick up a gang at Brane's booking and publicity agency; that the criminal calling himself The Cavalier, whom it took several encounters for Batman and Robin to catch in his earlier life, was in fact socialite Mortimer Drake; and that a van looting the Gotham Umbrella shop would be followed by Penguin robbing the Pinchbeck penthouse the following night. He could arrange to catch the perpetrators in the act, as soon as he knew what crime was coming up. And when Sergeant Shirley Holmes sent out her signal, three days after she had started her assignment, he went straight to the swindle chief's basement hideout to help the police clean it up.

All in all, Batman had never been anywhere near this efficient as a crimefighter before; he solved three high profile cases and four smaller crimes in five days, besides helping to bust the confidence racket. It was also pretty boring if he were honest with himself. He didn't have to use his intelligence as much as his memory, and he did miss working with Robin.

Not that being Batman was meant to be fun, whatever Dick claimed, he reminded himself. But surely there was room in his life to feel… intellectual satisfaction on a job well done. And to appreciate the opportunity to help youngsters develop into the best they could be.

When, on the afternoon of the sixth day since Robin had been hurt, he was called to the Police headquarters, he couldn't help but to perk up. He didn't know what was on Gordon's mind – it might even be a case that he hadn't been involved in before, being too busy solving the crimes that he had already put behind him the last few days.

In a rare display of openness, he parked the Batmobile in front of the headquarter and went in through the front door, curtly greeting the police officers he met on the way to Gordon's office. He recognised a few of them – some good, some incompetent, some corrupt. The sight of two happily chatting beat cops, whom he remembered seeing lying in their own blood after a violent shoot-out close to Crime Alley some ten years from now, made him stop in his tracks for a second. When they ceased talking to look at him with huge eyes and awe-struck expressions, Batman nodded solemnly before walking on. There would be many more ghosts out of his past for him to face in this time, he chastised himself. He needed to keep a level head at all times.

Nevertheless, it felt like a relief, reaching Jim Gordon's office; he was looking forward to a chat with his old friend, perhaps an interesting case that he had never worked on before, and to escape a world with memories around every corner.

But stepping inside, he froze for a second – finding himself face to face with a person he knew all too well and who had been responsible for more nightmares and haunting experiences than he cared to dwell upon.

Gordon rose from his desk chair with a welcoming smile.

"Batman, I'm glad you could come! You've been quite busy these last days, but doctor Hurt here – Simon Hurt – has something important to discuss with you," the commissioner said with a gesture towards a man sitting on the other side of the desk. He was dressed in a sober, black suit and looked every inch the dedicated scientist.

Batman had to physically force himself to show no expression when he met the gaze of a man who would eventually become one of his most dangerous and ruthless adversaries.

"Pleased to meet you, Batman," said Hurt with an easy grin, rising from the chair with his right hand outstretched.

Batman ignored the hand and crossed his arms over his chest, gave Hurt the smallest nod possible, and turned to Commissioner Gordon.

The commissioner seemed to falter in the face of Batman's stern expression, but he continued:

"Doctor Hurt is a prominent psychologist. He has been hired by the Defense Department to oversee an isolation experiment."

"The data will be invaluable to our space program, Batman, and that's only one of the fields that could benefit. I was hoping to convince you to take part in it. We want to see how prolonged isolation would effect on an astronaut's nervous system," Simon Hurt explained.

His gut reaction was to decline. It had been an unpleasant experience, and in the short term, it had put Robin's life in grave danger. The hallucinations that he experienced after the traumatic experiment had led to him endangering his protégé on several occasions. For a while, Batman had feared that he might have to hang up the cowl permanently.

Gordon and Hurt were looking expectantly at him, and he thought through the proposition a second time to consider the consequences of a refusal. It wasn't only Batman's future that was at stake, after all. Hurt was many things, but there was no denying that his work would be beneficial for science in general and space medicine in particular.

Taking part in the experiment had seemed a small thing at first; after he had been able to get past the hallucinations and get back out on the streets as Batman, he had almost put the episode behind him – save for the occasional nightmare or flashback that had continued for many years.

But much later, Hurt had turned out to be a deadly adversary. And he did not doubt that the data Simon Hurt collected during the experiment had helped him go after Batman and his family.

Hurt had not only been a threat to Bruce's life and sanity, but he had also sullied his parents' reputation, and he had targeted Dick and Damian as well. Dick in the Batman's suit, fighting with a bullet in his skull, was not an easy image to shake; neither was the memory of seeing a fresh wound in Damian's abdomen and being told how Hurt had stabbed his son.

He took a deep breath – it really was an easy decision.

"Gentlemen, I have participated in a similar isolation experiment once. I am not interested in repeating it."

* * *

Meeting Simon Hurt had rattled him, more than he cared to admit, and Batman decided to skip patrol and return to the Batcave for the evening. There was one important task he needed to start on before Robin was ready to go out on the streets again and he called Alfred to ask him to meet him in the cave on his return.

"Are you not going to make your usual round tonight, sir?" the butler greeted him when he stepped out of the car.

"No, Alfred. The press has been forthcoming enough to report on the Batman's efficiency the last few days; let's hope that has put the fear in the criminals for a night or two. I need your help with something important."

"Certainly, sir."

"We're going to make a new Robin suit. It needs to be better equipped and provide stronger protection."

"I see. Is the young master… informed, sir?"

"The young master is not going to like it, Alfred. But it's my decision."

"You do remember what happened the last time you put your foot down, sir…?"

"I know, Alfred; I'm not going to try to stop him from being Robin and make him run away with some nonsense about my not needing a son!" Batman snapped; the memory of the note that Dick had left behind when he disappeared from the Manor still caused a flicker of guilt. "I just want him to have decent body armour and vital equipment in his suit. That's not too much to ask, surely?"

"… Indeed, sir. May I inquire if there has been a particular occurrence that brought this on? The vest did protect him from a serious injury the last time Robin was out, after all."

"… Gotham… is not getting any safer, Alfred."

"You don't seem to have much faith in the Batman's ability to make a difference, sir."

Batman stared out over the darkness that crept all around the artificially lit cave.

"On the contrary, I know that Batman makes a difference. What kind of difference he makes – that is another question. And Robin… Robin makes a difference I could never have guessed," he said slowly, thinking about the long line of children who would put on a mask and body tight suit – all because he had permitted one traumatised boy to go out and fight crime.

And obstinate. Did he mention obstinate?

"Is Dick asleep?

"At this hour? Certainly not, sir. Last I saw, he was using the home theatre to play some sort of video game. He was worried when I informed him about your early return."

"Hnh. I will spend some time with him before his bedtime. We'll just write down the rough specs, so we know what components we need for the suit."

"Components, sir?"

"Several tracking devices that work independently from each other, in case he loses parts of the suit. At least two of them will be turned off until I activate them from the cave, to make sure they don't all run out of battery at the same time. Comm radio. Video link. Equipment to monitor his vital signs. Defibrillator."

"….?"

"Don't cock your eyebrow in that condescending manner, Alfred. It could save his life one day."

"I was not aware that you could have a defibrillator in clothes, sir."

He grunted; that was the bitch, wasn't it. You couldn't, not with the materials and technology currently available. He would have to commission someone to invent most of what he wanted in the new Robin costume if he couldn't replicate what he remembered of the future's technology. A better kevlar, nanotechnology for electrical wiring and sensors for the suit...

Alfred looked at him with an expression that could best be described as pityingly.

"Are you familiar with the comic book figure Iron man, Master Bruce?"

"... What about him?"

"You do realise the Robin suit will need to be approximately the same size as Iron man's, to make room for everything that you ask for."

Batman deflated visibly, with a deep sigh.

"I guess I will have to make do with something simpler to start with, old friend. But I'm not going to budge on tracking devices and an improved comm radio; I will look into the possibilities myself tomorrow."

"And the design, sir?"

"… You mean, besides that it's going to be a covering body armour with long sleeves and long legs and something that actually covers his throat and neck? And boots. Sturdy boots."

"Will Master Richard have any say at all, regarding the new Robin suit?"

"… I suppose I could let him have an opinion about… colours. But if he insists on keeping the traffic lights, they are damn well going to be muted."

"Muted yellow, sir?"

"The cape can be yellow on the inside. The outside is going to be black."

"You seem already to have a very firm grasp of what you want it to look like, sir…"

"You know what, Alfred. That I do. That I do…"

* * *

 _Referencing:_

 _Specialists in Crime. World's Finest Comics # 18_

 _The Cavalier of Crime. Detective Comics # 81_

 _The Penguin's Crime-Thunderstorm. The Batman and Robin Sundays, November-December 1943._

 _Robin Dies at Dawn. Batman # 156 (by Bill Finger, art by Sheldon Moldoff and Charles Paris)_

 _Robin: Year One, part 3 (Written by Chuck Dixon and Scott Beatty, art by Javier Pulido and Robert Campanella.)_

 _Simon Hurt was first called by name during Grant Morrison's run on Batman, in # 673. His first appearance, however, was in the story "Robin Dies at Dawn" in Batman # 156 (still one of my favourite Batman stories), but Grant Morrison reimagined Hurt as_ a main _adversary._

 _Young Dick has actually run away from home more than once. I was thinking about Robin: Year One here, but he also left the Wayne household in The Batman Plays a Lone Hand in Batman # 13. There Bruce fires Robin and leaves Dick with some money to take care of himself (this is before Wayne Manor and Alfred, mind you) because a criminal has threatened Robin and he wants to set up a trap. Dick, not knowing this, gets upset and leaves the house and the money to show that he can take care of himself._

 _And Nightwing had a defibrillator in his suit recently, in # 36._

 _There are new blog posts with doctor Hurt as well as Dick running away and the in-built defibrillator on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	20. Chapter 20

Batman had skipped the Justice League meetings since he was transported to his earlier life. The latest one had taken place the day after Robin's injury; Wonder Woman had even called to ask for him since he hadn't attended for several weeks, but she had accepted that he wanted to stay with Robin without further questions.

But this week he was going to bite the bullet. He needed to reintegrate himself into the League of this time, after all, and he did not have any pressing matters in Gotham to take care of. He did, on the other hand, have things he wanted to do in the cave headquarter of the vintage League.

Vintage... That was actually a word that came to his mind a lot these days, Batman reflected while he stood before his old Batplane. How much easier his crimefighting had become once he got a plane that could hover... He needed to write "updated Batplane" on his to-do list, right up there with Robin's suit, a new Batmobile that was not a cabriolet, and finance research on nanotechnology that could be incorporated in textile. Not forgetting about improved grapple hook guns and a satellite headquarter for the Justice League, he mentally added to his list as he sat down in the pilot's seat.

It wasn't that he had any room to complain about having a cave for a headquarter, but he was going to miss the breathtaking view over Earth from the JLA satellite. And it was a much better location, seeing as a lot of the League's missions were about global and space-faring threats.

At least he wouldn't be without things to do, even if there would be some cases he could solve more by memory than by detective skills, Batman thought as he pushed the joystick forward for take-off.

Things in the old – current – League headquarter were pretty much as Batman remembered them. The equipment was just as primitive as its counterpart in the Batcave, and it had been an easy task, once he had arrived early to be sure he could get his work done while he was alone, to install the safeguards that he wanted to try out.

Most of the members of the very first incarnation of the Justice League made their appearance, one after another, and they were soon seated around their conference table. Batman had thought that by now, he was accustomed to seeing friends and associates much younger and more innocent than when he last met them, but he couldn't help feeling as if he were the only adult in a room full of… if not kids, at least youngsters. Some of them were hardly older than Dick was in his own time – and with the exception of Diana, none of them had been active anywhere near as long as Nightwing. Neither had the Batman, in this time, he thought with a pang of sadness.

The cave headquarter felt cramped and joyless, the League too small, and it was strange to see Wonder Woman as the only female member around the table. The things that he had thought were normal, once…

Only Green Arrow and J'onn J'onzz were missing; Batman had actually made certain of the latter's absence before he decided to come. For all that the Martian would try to avoid invading his privacy by reading his mind, he was pretty sure that he was still a far cry from being adjusted enough to this reality to avoid broadcasting to a telepath that something was wrong.

He listened with half an ear to the discussion around the table, where Superman was acting chairman.

"We've had no unusual crimes reported to us the last week. Does anyone have something to report?"

Batman noticed that Green Lantern looked at him as if expecting him to bring up the pesky imp. But he had no intention of raising the subject and kept stubbornly silent while the Flash reported that Captain Cold was back in custody after his latest crime spree, and Green Lantern told them about how he had defeated The Puppeteer since the League's last meeting.

"Most of our known enemies are locked up and accounted for, aren't they?" Aquaman put in. "Brain storm and his brother are still in jail, and so is Despero."

"Amazo is also unable to threaten us; the android is still standing in the display case in our souvenir room," added Wonder Woman.

"And Felix Faust is currently deprived of his magical abilities," said Superman.

Much as Batman had expected, the meeting would not provide him with any pertinent information beside the opportunity to re-acquaint himself with his fellow leaguers and the headquarter. And to try out the improved surveillance equipment he had been working on the last few days, and installed in close proximity to the conference table.

He eventually excused himself, grunting about an important phone call, and left the room to test the hidden devices. They still needed improvement before they would be able to broadcast all the way to the Batcave, but as long as he could piggyback on the ordinary communication line from the headquarter, they would fulfil their purpose.

With Superman close by, he needed to make a call to avoid annoying questions; since Bruce Wayne was overdue to exchange a few words in preparation to his next board meeting, he could kill two birds with one stone. He would have no problems playing mostly clue-less company figurehead at the same time as he checked that the audio and video transmitters worked.

He made his phone call and let the company director on the other end get started before he turned on the surveillance equipment.

"Doesn't Bats strike you as... odd?" he heard Hal Jordan say in his right ear, the one that was not currently occupied with an update on the financial market.

"Odd? In which way?"

He tensed – was Jordan going to bring up his request for help looking for the imp? He hadn't asked the man to keep it a secret, after all. And if Superman heard about it, there would be no end to the questions.

"I'm not sure... he just doesn't sound like himself. I mean, the guy is no chatterbox, we all know that, but I've never heard him go through a whole meeting with nothing but grunts."

By now, he had picked up the small video receiver from his utility belt and could see a flickering picture overlooking the room with the conference table. The quality of the image was acceptable, for this era; but then, he was only ten meters away.

"He was a bit more taciturn than usual when I last worked with him," Superman agreed, "but I got the impression he was frustrated because he was forced to sit that particular case out. Since then, he hasn't been in touch."

"And that's not unusual?"

"Not hearing from Batman for a fortnight? Not really."

Clearly, he was not the only one to find the current situation different from what he was used to. He had changed enough over the years that he couldn't play the part of his younger self perfectly.

No matter; they would get used to him over time. But it would ease the transition if he put in a few words from time to time, he sighed to himself.

"His child has been hurt – that was why he did not attend last week. It is not unreasonable for Batman to be more on edge than usual," he heard Wonder Woman say.

"His child...? You mean Robin?"

"… There's not anyone else, surely?"

The meeting room fell silent for a few moments, and then he heard the voice of Flash.

"You know, the thought of Batman with a whole cave full of kids... It's kind of scary, but I can't decide whether it's scary for the kids or the rest of us."

Batman rolled his eyes to the sound of snorts and giggles from the Leaguers. Then he heard Superman's voice in his earpiece.

"Jokes aside, I think you all underestimate Batman. He takes great care or Robin. Their partnership is good for both of them."

"Maybe so, but you can't tell me it's a healthy situation for a child. I'm sure that both Robin and Bats have their reasons why they think their little arrangement is a great idea, but I sincerely hope there aren't any more kids with that kind of luggage out there," Green Lantern retorted.

Batman found himself sympathising with Hal Jordan on this particular subject – but it was typical that he was the one to express somewhat square opinions about younger partners. The man would never get an apprentice or have a younger relative with superpowers, after all.

Hal didn't become Green Lantern because he wanted it or because of something that had happened to him personally, but because the Guardians from Oa chose him. Things tended to be black or white in how Hal Jordan saw the world.

The discussion in the meeting room moved on to other subjects, and shortly after Batman returned to sit out the rest of the gathering, making an effort to utter a few words occasionally, until the meeting was over.

Luckily, even the Batman of this time was known to be something of a control freak, and no-one was surprised when he stayed on his own after the meeting, claiming he needed to check something. Superman made an effort to stay and talk, but Batman deflected until the Kryptonian tired and left him to his own devices.

It was true enough, what he had said; he needed to check on his hidden surveillance equipment and, more importantly, decide what to do. Leave it in place, or remove it once he had ascertained that he could make it work.

Anything could happen in the League headquarter and an intruder might find some way to take control of the regular video and audio links. His hidden equipment might one day be their only means to see and hear what was going on.

But Batman had lived through times when his wish to control and his inability to trust had severely damaged relationships and his collaboration with others. The consequences had at times been disastrous and something he wanted to avoid. Whether he would accomplish that by using everything he knew to prevent certain things from happening or going behind their backs to a lesser extent; that was the question.

Dick was more open to trusting others – far too trustful, in Batman's opinion – but there was no denying that he was a better team player and, in many ways, a better leader than his mentor was. Perhaps he ought to take a page out of Dick's book, after all.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead through the cowl – he had better remove the hidden surveillance equipment, at least for now, and figure it out later. If some of the others found it, there would be no end to the arguments. He could bring it up with Clark later on, tell the man that he would like to have safeguards in place inside the League headquarter. Surely they could find an acceptable solution…

Besides, there was another way inside the headquarter that Batman could use in case of emergencies, as long as no-one on the inside disabled it: to hack the computer equipment. All he needed to do was to sit down and go through the codes, and he would be fully prepared.

But the hardware was not the only part of being prepared that he needed to work on when it came to the Justice League. Batman's contingency plans for his fellow leaguers had not been more than a vague idea, at this time. Most of them still didn't know who Batman was behind the mask, and he had been more trusting as a young man.

He couldn't let history repeat itself when it came to someone else finding and taking advantage of his preparations – but on the other hand, he could not neglect to plan for the possibility that his colleagues would become threats. Some of them would, whatever he did to change the future, of that he had no doubt – even if it might not be of their own volition.

The League wasn't about friendship; that had always been a fundamental difference between the League and the Teen Titans, or the Titans. He wasn't here to relax with friends, or learn from friends; he was here to help protect the world. And that included from threats that might stem from the League itself.

And from him – he had to acknowledge as much. Sometimes, his own actions had put the world at risk.

He had contingency plans for people who most believed was his best friends. He lied to them, over and over again, to make sure he could stand against them if it came to that. But what happened when they finally stopped trusting him? Had the world been safer, when that had happened? He could spy on them and keep a watchful eye on them, even from the outside, but was that a better option?

Trusting came at a price; he had always operated from that knowledge. But lying and distrust had a price-tag, too.

Batman sat back in the chair in front of the computer console in the headquarter and pinched the bridge of the cowl's nose protector hard enough to feel it. He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly; he mustn't fool himself that he could solve all the problems and conflict of interests that lay ahead at once. Whatever he decided would have far-reaching consequences; he should give himself time to consider different alternatives.

He slowly straightened up, rolled his shoulders a few times and rose from the chair. It was still early evening, and he had been cooped up in the Batcave for too much of the last days, working from what he remembered on cases instead of having to do the actual footwork. An ordinary patrol would do him good, he decided; he started walking towards where he had parked the Batplane, meaning to fly back to the cave and exchange it for the Batmobile.

When he later headed out from the Batcave the sky had only just darkened; he left the car and took to the roofs at the earliest possible moment. It was peaceful up there, on top of the sky-reaching buildings of Gotham city. The darkness hid much of the changes from what he was used to. For a moment he could almost forget that he had been displaced in time; he could imagine that the Robin waiting for Batman to come home would be Damian and that there might be half a dozen youngsters training or working in the Batcave when he returned.

Tim would hunch over the computer with Jason needling him about being a geek, Damian would demand that Dick spar with him and be annoyed when his opponent teasingly used his acrobatics to keep far away from all attacks, Barbara would be teaching Cassandra ballet steps with Stephanie giving less than helpful but humorous advice, and Duke would be sitting backwards on a chair, reading and sending heavenward glances from time to time at the others' antiques. Perhaps even Alfred would be there, pretending to dust some of the glass cases but in reality enjoying the sound of life and laughter in the vast cave.

Batman shut the line of thought down right there. It was a ridiculously idyllic daydream that bore no resemblance to reality, even in his own time. His protégés were never in the cave at the same time, all of them had their own life outside of Batman's realm, and few of them were close to each other. The only thing they had in common was that, for a longer or shorter period, he had taken them as a partner and trained them. Some had lived with him like family for many years; some had come and gone for a while.

And he had watched too many of them die... Regardless of that they had come back, whether after a few agonising seconds without a heartbeat or truly coming back from the dead after an extended period of time, it never ceased to make his blood run cold of guilt.

He tore his thoughts away from had been and concentrated on observing his surroundings. Eventually, he caught a glimpse of a sleek shadow moving gracefully over one of Gotham's most exclusive apartment buildings.

Sooner or later, he was bound to come across her, wasn't he… He threw his batarang line and flew over to the building, coming to a stop in front of Selina Kyle – Catwoman.

She stopped short some yards away from him, straightening up and putting her hands on her hips. She looked just as he remembered from this time; dressed in purple and green, with her black hair flowing freely over her shoulders.

Batman stood firmly in her way, arms crossed over his chest, and looked at her with a certain wariness. He had had many romantic relationships over the years, but somehow, he kept coming back to Selina. By now, he thought that she was probably the only one that he might be able to share a future with.

In his own time, he trusted her, if not implicitly. She could very well go behind his back to steal or do something that he would not agree with. But he trusted her with his life, his personal secrets, and with his family.

Still, there were no denying that in his past – in this time – Catwoman's actions had put both himself and Robin in jeopardy. More than once.

"No bird to chirp in our ears tonight, Batman?"

"Hnh."

"Word on the street is that the kid was hurt. I suppose it is true, then."

He fixed her with his stare and inclined his head slowly. Catwoman took a breath, her posture became rigid, and she hesitated before speaking again.

"Not – too bad?"

"No."

As quickly as if she had never been tensely waiting for an answer, she was all playful flirting.

"Then perhaps tonight's game is hide and seek, away from innocent children's eyes."

"I suppose you're here to steal Horace Braham's cat's-eye jewels, Catwoman. He lives right in this building, after all."

"… It's not like the man will go hungry.

"Go home. I've put you in jail before; I will do it again," he stated matter-of-factly.

"A warning, handsome?"

"An observation."

She tilted her head with a half-smile, half-pout.

"You're no fun tonight…"

"No," he agreed. "Go home."

Neither of them moved from their position, and it briefly crossed his mind that he could build a new kind of family here, with Selina. But he wasn't ready for a relationship, while he was rebuilding his life in unfamiliar surroundings. Most importantly, he couldn't do anything to risk Damian's existence. If he weren't going to take Jason and Tim into his home, he would at least do everything he could to get Damian.

Eventually, Catwoman shrugged slowly and gave him a last smile.

"There will be more nights, Batman; perhaps you will be in a better mood then. Say hello to the little birdie for me."

* * *

 _Golden age Catwoman shows a serious lack of imagination when it comes to stealing cat-themed stuff. I couldn't find any story to use in this fic. She was after Horace Braham's cat's-eye jewels, though, in DC # 203._

 _As compensation for_ that _I didn't manage to find a suitable story, I've put together a Tumblr post with Catwoman costumes from the Golden, Silver and Bronze Age. As well as a cool Cat Woman dress I found at an exhibition at the V &A recently. _

_Also, I'm not reading Heroes in Crisis, and I'm probably not doing it until the next reboot when certain Titans are back alive or something, but I did take some inspiration for Batman's introspective musings from # 2. The relevant page is on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog /_ northoftheroad


	21. Chapter 21

The headlines about yet another murder Batman could have prevented, if he only could remember the details in time, stared up at Bruce from the Gotham Gazette when he opened it at the breakfast table. John Grant had been murdered the day before, bitten by a deadly cobra in his home.

John Grant, a sportsman who had been declared dead some years ago – after a cobra bite. He had been revived and became one of the members of the Death-cheaters; a club whose members were going to be murdered, one by one. Unless Batman could prevent it.

He and Robin had been there when it started, in a way – not long before he came to this time. They had witnessed a shoot-out between the gang-leaders "Joey the Rod" and "Little Dougy" where Dougy had been shot before they could intervene. They apprehended Joey, but Dougy was declared dead at the hospital; however, one of the doctors had refused to give up and had managed to revive the man.

Bruce had read about the case those first days when he was catching up on what had happened recently, and he had thought about what he ought to do. He remembered that in the not too distant future, Dougy would apply for membership in the newly formed Death-cheaters club since the club members were offered a substantial sum for the movie rights to their histories. But Dougy was refused because of his criminal record; when someone tried to murder the members, by methods that mimicked how they had once died, the gangster was a natural suspect.

Batman and Robin had, however, been suspicious. It had soon become obvious that the murderer knew the club members' personal habits in a way that Dougy, who had only met them briefly, could hardly do.

The crimefighting duo had been able to save several members in the nick of time, but they couldn't find the murderer. Eventually, Bruce had decided the best way was for him to join the club and set a trap for the murderer. He had "accidentally" swallowed a deadly poison while they had arranged to have a doctor in the house, answering a call from Alfred. Once the doctor had proclaimed him dead, Dick had given him artificial respiration that had revived him. The plan had worked out, in the end.

He had never got around to look into the case since he came here. Once he had decided to stay and use his knowledge in whatever way he could, there were so many things that he wanted to get started on. But now it had begun all over again – it was time for Batman to act.

He didn't intend to repeat his death; it was a huge risk to take, and much as he knew that Dick would do anything in his power to resuscitate him, the boy's injury might make it difficult for him to succeed in reviving his guardian.

He remembered Dick's anxious face, just as he swallowed the poison. And how he had been pale and trembling, once Bruce drifted back into consciousness. Even disregarding the danger to himself, he really didn't want to put the boy through that ordeal again. And since he knew who was responsible, there was no reason for him to put either of them through the "accidental" death of Bruce Wayne.

Accidentally swallow a deadly poison, Bruce thought with a small grimace. It was a good thing that Bruce Wayne of this time had a reputation as not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but still… It was a wonder that anyone bought it.

"Why are you making faces, Bruce?" Dick asked, calling him back to reality.

"… Just thinking about the murder, chum."

"Will Batman get involved? Can I come down to the cave and help?" the boy asked, leaning forward over the table.

The fact was that Robin could do nothing to help; Bruce couldn't recall everything about the case, but he did remember who the murderer was. Jeff Sievers, personal accountant of most of the rest of the club members, who had used his position to embezzle large sums. Dougy's threats had given him the idea to murder the men and hence keep his theft from being discovered, counting on that the gang leader would be the prime suspect.

Sievers' ticket into the club had been an attack of epilepsy. He had faked a new attack and left a threatening note, to give the impression that he had been a victim of the murderer.

But when had he done that… And had he gone after somebody else before that? Batman couldn't even remember if someone else had died, before Robin and he got involved in the case.

He had better keep Sievers under constant surveillance until the man made his next move. He would be able to prove that the man was not dead and thus the likely murderer.

Dick had been reading the newspaper article, while Bruce had been contemplating; the boy pushed the paper back over the table, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Honestly, Bruce – a club called Death-cheaters? Only on Gotham…"

"… Hnh."

"And only a few months ago, we had that case with The Maskers, where every member wears a mask to work."

"… Yes."

"Are there many more clubs for weirdos in Gotham?"

"Don't say that – it's impolite."

"Okay. Are there many more clubs for eccentrics?"

"… I suppose you could count The Danger club. For people with jobs so dangerous that they can't get life insurance."

"Oh… At least that makes sense – like a trade union for dangerous occupations."

"Hm."

"What are you going to do? What can I do?"

"I don't think there is anything for Robin to do, at least not at the moment."

"Come on, Bruce, I'm dying of boredom here! At least you can let me try to do some research on the Batcomputer."

If it weren't for the mannequin with the first parts of a future Robin costume standing in the middle of the Batcave, Bruce would have let the boy have his way. As it were, he intended to keep Dick out of the cave a while longer. He wasn't ready to have that particular conversation, yet.

"Not today, chum. Tell you what – this article has a list of all the club members. Why don't you use the computer in your room to look up information about how they cheated death, where they live and so on."

Dick narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to one side.

"… Why do you want me to do it up here? Normally, you don't want me to do any Robin work upstairs, in case someone accidentally breaks into my room and sees that I'm doing other stuff than homework…"

Yet another of those questions he didn't have a good answer for.

"I'm… concerned about your health, chum. The cave is chilly, and you're not fully recuperated."

He ignored Dick's protest that he was perfectly fine and that Bruce was being ridiculous, and continued, "Being curious about the club members will seem normal enough if anyone should happen to find your browsing history."

"M-hm…"

"Of course, since you're going to delete the history as soon as you're finished, that's not going to be a problem. You can compile a file for me for this evening. Now, I'm going to head out."

"Already? In broad daylight?"

"Mhm."

"If you're not careful, the rumour that Batman is, in fact, a vampire is going to dissipate…"

"I'll have to take that risk," he chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair before he left for the Batcave.

* * *

Batman intended to keep an eye on Jeff Sievers until the man made a move that gave him away. If that meant tailing the man all over Gotham for a week, so be it. Several of the club members had come extremely close to getting killed, and he might not be so successful in saving them this time as he and Robin had been the first time.

The truck driver Hack Dawes had been seconds away from being hit by artificial lightning when the Dynamic Duo called for him to jump out of his truck and the actor Gregory Orrick had been ready to start chewing on his new, poisoned glasses when Batman and Robin burst into his room.

No, staying on Sievers' tail would be a simpler way to stop the murders. But Robin was correct, in so far as Batman was seldom seen in daylight and would attract unwanted attention in the city. It was easier to hide in the shadows when there were, in fact, shadows pretty much everywhere.

But working as Batman didn't necessarily mean that he had to dress as Batman, and Bruce went past the Batsuit and headed for a large dressing table, filled with makeup, wigs and everything he needed to transform his appearance.

Shortly after he looked sufficiently unlike Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy; with longish, cendré hair, rounder face contours and brown eyes, and dressed in blue jeans, white t-shirt and a black leather jacket. It wasn't until he looked himself in the full-length mirror that he realised that he had chosen to dress just as Dick would do in a few years time when he wanted to look proper but still Dick Grayson rather than a Wayne heir.

If Bruce didn't know that he was not the sentimental type, he could almost believe he had subconsciously chosen those clothes because he missed the older version of the child upstairs.

He couldn't go out in the Batmobile, and even if Bruce Wayne had more cars than anyone could keep up with, he wasn't going to take any risks. But he had seen just the vehicle, standing behind the little collection of cars in the cave. A black, sleek motorbike; it would fit perfectly for his outfit and was fast and flexible, to boot.

The disguised Batman headed straight to Jeff Sievers' home, a house in the Gotham suburb on the far side of Brown Bridge, where he stashed the bike out of sight and started looking around. It would seem he was in luck; Sievers' car was parked outside the building.

However, he could see no sign of movement from the house. No shadows passing the windows, no light being turned on or off and not a single ruffle in the curtains. At this time of the day, and with the car still outside, there really should be some sign of life.

Batman kept vigil for almost an hour, without seeing any sign that the villa was inhabited before he decided to get a closer look. He walked around the house, looking in through windows and listening. When he still could not pick up any signs of life, he went to the front door, knocked and tried the doorbell. When nothing happened, after several tries, he quickly picked the lock and sneaked inside.

It was completely still, and Batman quietly made his way through the house. No breakfast on the table, no clothes or briefcase lying about, ready to be picked up when the owner left for work.

The door to what was probably the bedroom was slightly ajar, and as soon as he peeked inside, Batman knew what was going on.

Jeff Sievers was lying lifeless on his bed, dressed in his pyjamas, and surrounded by pillows and sheets in disarray. Beside him on the bed was a note, presumably of the threatening kind.

Sievers had already made his next move – by staging his own second "death" by an epileptic fit. Possibly an accomplice was already on the way, to produce a death certificate and make sure that his "body" was taken to a safe place.

Fortunately, Batman was prepared for that; he had brought a drug that would counter the effects of what Sievers hade taken. He hesitated for a moment, considering what to do. He could revive Sievers, call an ambulance and the police and take his chances that he could uncover evidence while the man was still at the hospital. Or he could let Sievers' plan work out and tail the man until he made his first attempt on another club members' life.

The latter would be a surer way to get the evidence he needed – but it would also mean endangering lives, even if one of the persons in danger were a murderer. Batman had learned his lesson; there were no guarantees that everything would play out as they once had.

He took out a syringe and a vial of the drug, filled the syringe and injected Sievers. It would make the man's heartbeat pick up so that it would be impossible to pass him off as dead to the police, as the man's plan had been. The murderer wouldn't wake up for a few hours, however, and Batman decided to take a look around the house before he called the police and ambulance.

He knew that Sievers had embezzled money, and he could probably get a confession out of the man with a combination of scare and bluff. But the case would be tighter if he could find solid evidence.

Since Sievers was planning to play dead, and leave his home and everything in it, he had to assume that the man had tried to remove all evidence and move incriminating material to his hideout. If he could only remember where that was… Perhaps he would find a map, a photo or a document that would help him remember.

But the man was no fool – Batman had had to resort to pretty desperate measures to catch him, after all. He wasn't likely to leave incriminating documents in plain sight.

Batman rubbed the back of his head with his knuckles; he really should know where the hideout was. How had he and Robin managed to locate it… He couldn't remember pouring over any detective work, once they had deduced whom the murderer was…

They had fooled the man that Bruce Wayne was sitting in a canoe in a park in the city. Sievers had used a blow-pipe for a poisoned dart; it had in fact been a dummy in the canoe, and Batman and Robin had jumped the man. Batman had got in a hit, but when Sievers had stumbled backwards Robin, who had jumped from a tree, missed and knocked himself unconscious on the rocks that lined the shore of the lake. Sievers had got away when Batman went to help the boy, but when the crimefighting duo saw that Batman had got red ink on his hand, they realised that Sievers was their man. Few people use red ink, but accountants do, and his pen had leaked.

They had gone back to Sievers' house to look for clues, and…

He almost laughed out loud – Batman wasn't the only one to take advantage of a place hidden underground, after all. Oliver Queen had a cavern under his home for his Arrowcave, the League had a cave for headquarter, and Jeff Sievers simply used the hidden cellar under his house.

All he had to do was drive home and change into his suit, call the police, and come back and pick up the evidence.

* * *

Jeff Sievers woke up, several hours later, in a hospital bed. As soon as his eyes were open enough, Commissioner Gordon rose from a chair by the wall and went over to the bed.

"Good day, Mister Sievers. I suppose this isn't where you expected to find yourself, but while you've been unconscious, Batman found your hideout and exposed your crimes."

Sievers stared with wide eyes and mouth at the commissioner and flinched when Batman seemed to materialise out of the shadow in the far corner of the room.

"You have embezzled money. Murdered John Grant. And you have made notes on the personal habits of the club members that you intended to take advantage of to kill them," Batman stated.

"What..? No… I wouldn't….," the man protested, his eyes shifting between Gordon, Batman and the Police Sergeant that stood on guard beside the door.

"I might not be able to prove that you intended to murder the other club members to cover up for your embezzlement. But I can promise that you will go down for the murder of John Grant," Batman continued.

He stared at Sievers for a few seconds, to let his words sink in, before he turned on his heel, nodded curtly to Jim Gordon and walked out of the room. The only task left for Batman was to find an excuse to give Robin about how he had found the murderer straight away. He would have to blame it on dumb luck, probably…

On his way out, he heard the Sergeant clear his throat and start talking:

"Jeff Sievers. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…"

* * *

 _I admit; I wrote this chapter mostly so I could highlight the absurd clubs of Gotham._

 _The Death-cheaters of Gotham City. Batman # 72. By David Vern Reed, art by Jim Mooney._

 _The Maskers, "The Legion of Faceless men", Batman # 72. Art by Dick Sprang and Charles Paris._

 _The Danger Club, Batman # 74. By Edmond Hamilton, art by Bob Kane and Charles Paris._

 _The Frolickers, "Robin – boy acrobat", art by Jim Mooney. In Star Spangled Comics # 114._

 _Some panels:_

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	22. Chapter 22

"Come on, Bruce, what is this? A joke?"

"…Hnh."

"That… suit has to be heavier than I am. Just look at those boots – they alone will push my centre of gravity all wrong. How am I supposed to manage a somersault or a butterfly kick in those? I mean... Combat boots? Boots, Bruce!"

You didn't mind the boots when you let Damian become Robin, was on the tip of his tongue.

Bruce was actually quite proud of the progress he and Alfred had done, the last days when Dick was banned from the cave. The new Robin suit was far from finished but they had managed to assemble the main protective elements and it was mounted on a mannequin; rather like a three-dimensional sketch.

The suit consisted of a Nomex base with extra plates of kevlar in the shape of a vest around the torso, as well as over parts of arms and legs. The domino had developed into half a cowl that covered about two-thirds of the head. He had considered a complete cowl, like the Batsuit and Tim's old Red Robin suit, be decided that it might be pushing Dick's limits too far.

There would be trackers installed – as soon as he got his hand on exactly what he wanted – in the utility belt and the vest and at least one of the gloves and boots. He was still working on a better comm radio and was looking around for someone who could manufacture a small but reliable video link that could be installed later on.

Most of the suit was grey, waiting for Dick to decide what colour scheme he wanted. The only exceptions were the cape, which was yellow on the inside and black on the outside, and the green boots with red laces; the latter a nostalgic nod to the memory of his yet unborn son and latest Robin.

"Then perhaps you should concentrate on learning other techniques."

"Newsflash, Bruce! I'm not as big and strong as you are! I need to fight my own way – you've told me that, on countless occasions. And now you want to lock me up in something that makes it impossible? And what's up with the… choker hood? I'm not even going to be able to turn my head and see what's going on behind me with that!"

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I really am not. Even if the material is way more flexible than it looks the sheer weight is going to be a problem. Not even the Batsuit is anything like that thick."

"… We're not talking about my suit right now; we're talking about yours."

"… Which has worked just fine up until now!"

Bruce bit down on an inpatient response and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, slow breath and reminding himself why he needed to stand firm. Dick was smart but, especially at this age, too quick to let his heart guide him… The boy needed to be better protected when that backfired on him.

He fervently wished that his original protégé would let logic and caution dictate his actions more often; Bruce would feel so much calmer when the boy went out on his own if that had been the case. Perhaps not as proud – it truly had been a wonder, watching a traumatised orphan grow into someone who never truly lost his sense of hope and compassion – but so much less worried.

"Your old suit does not provide enough protection. It was pure luck that the knife didn't go in further. If that man had been a better knife thrower, you wouldn't be standing here."

Dick crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"I really, really don't understand what's come over you, Bruce… You make a fuss about things that you've never raised an eyebrow over before. You don't trust me to do the simplest things. You haven't called Linda och Vicki or anyone else for a date for weeks, which is totally out of character for your playboy act! And sometimes, you seem to completely lose it; even I felt sorry for those wannabe bank-robbers. What's happened that you're not telling me about?"

"… This is irrelevant. I let you down here to discuss a new Robin suit. If you're not prepared to do that, you may go back up to the Manor again."

"See! You're doing it again – not trusting me! A blind can see that you're hiding something. Alfred and I can't help you if you don't tell us what the problem is. Come on, Bruce – please…" Dick said, his earlier narrow eyes widening into a pleading look.

"I fail to see how it can be a problem that I wish to ensure that you're well protected. Fighting crime in Gotham isn't a fun walk in an adventure park just because you wish it to be. What we do is dangerous, and that is never going to change."

He was rewarded with seeing Dick's eyes narrow into a glare again.

"I've known Gotham is dangerous since before I set eyes on you, Bruce! You don't need to talk to me as if I'm an idiot."

"You need to be better protected before you can continue as Robin. If this turns out to be too heavy for you, we'll look over your training regiment."

"I'm an acrobat! I'm not likely to become a heavyweight boxing champion any time soon!" Dick growled.

The youngster had become more agitated, gesturing with his whole body and walking up and down in front of the mannequin.

"There are a lot of martial arts that don't rely on flying kicks and jumps," Bruce insisted, woodenly.

"I'm not going to change the way I fight for the sake of a costume!"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose – he had heard that one before. Or rather, he hadn't heard it in person, but Alfred had told him the story of how they got Dick, kicking and screaming, to put on the Batsuit and all the alterations it had taken before the young man had finally felt he could work in it. The butler had told the story with a fond smile; but right now, Bruce could find nothing to smile about.

It was quickly spiralling out of hand; no matter how many times he had been on the receiving end of an outburst, he wasn't prepared for the young boy's mercurial temperament. When Dick was this age the first time around, there had been far fewer explosions. Bruce had always believed that his quick temper and their repeated quarrels had been largely the result of puberty – but he was beginning to think that there was another factor at play, as well.

Young Bruce, who was naive and confident that he could protect his Robin, had been such a pushover – for Dick's charm and stubbornness. Perhaps it was no wonder that he had seldom thrown any temper tantrums as a kid since his mentor repeatedly let him get his way and allowed him to perform outrageously dangerous tasks.

When Bruce had finally become wiser and demanded more caution from Robin, it coincided with Dick's growing need to establish himself away from his parental figure. That the teenager by then was used to having pretty free reins only fueled the conflicts.

And when he took it one step further and fired Robin in an effort to keep Dick safe, and at the same time distanced himself emotionally, he had certainly shot himself in the foot.

To be fair, Bruce could see Dick's point – to permit a well-trained adolescent less freedom of movement than a preteen was rather hypocritical, even if he could argue that Gotham had become more dangerous. But he simply hadn't known better, when he was young.

But now here he was, with fourteen extra years' worths of memories of seeing his Robins dead or severely injured, and no longer prepared to let a child out of his sight or to leave the cave with scarcely any protection. While Dick, on the other hand, was used to his Batman letting him run solo missions in leotards. A clash between them was inevitable.

Bruce needed to choose his words carefully, to avoid a scenario where Dick slammed the door in his face. The boy's temperament combined with an unwavering optimism was a dangerous combination; he might get into his head to leave the Manor, confident that he would land on his feet somehow.

Not that he doubted that he could get Dick back quickly enough; he wouldn't hesitate to ask Clark to find and pick up the boy, if it came to that. And Dick would want to return once his feelings had settled down. But there were still dozen of scenarios that turned out badly if the boy slipped away from the Manor unguarded, even for a few hours.

Thanks to the press, they were both well-known – and too many unscrupulous people saw the ward of Bruce Wayne as an easy ticket to money. That was not even taking Slade Wilson into the equation. He had never quite understood what the mercenary wanted with Dick, and he would very much prefer never to know.

His rational self tried to remind him that this was a time when he let Dick take his bike to a friend's house, or catch the bus downtown. And that Deathstroke the Terminator had, as far as he knew, never set his eye on Robin. But he couldn't quell the worry inside him.

Bruce had closed his eyes and massaged his forehead while the thoughts kept turning over in his head, and it took him a while to realise that Dick had fallen silent. He glanced at the boy, who was standing still again, with his arms crossed but his head slightly tilted, a slight frown on his face and biting his lip. He looked… more concerned than angry, Bruce decided.

Interesting. Without any opposition, the boy's anger waned. He hadn't noticed that before; no

doubt because he had always been too busy blowing off steam of his own, and consequently fueling the argument. If he made half a retreat, he could probably get a good enough result for a first step.

"We can look over the suit together, Dick," he said, taking care to keep his voice calm and soothing, far away from the Batman growl. "Of course it isn't my intention to endanger you by hindering your movement. But you need better protection. I'm willing to compromise, but you have to meet me half way."

Dick's posture loosened slightly.

"You've never had any problem with my suit before… The vest stopped the knife, after all. The wound wasn't really bad."

"There are heavier and heavier weapons getting out on the street all the time, chum. You know I couldn't… couldn't live with myself if…"

"You shouldn't start something as big as this without talking to me, Bruce. You get that, right?"

Pointing out that he had talked about updating the Robin suit, and the boy had waved it away, would probably not make the discussion proceed any smoother, Bruce decided. And he could push a few steps ahead, now that Dick was talking reasonably.

"You're much too stubborn to listen to reason. I know you – you would have refused to listen or sweet-talked me out of it."

"I'm still not going out in that… monstrosity."

Batman tried to look at the new suit as Dick saw it. Bulkier, heavier and stiffer than anything the boy had ever worn. He had to concede that not even adult Dick's Nightwing suit was this heavy – though that was mostly because there was lighter material available in the future.

All things considered, it was probably a good thing that he had never come around to tell Dick about the trackers and other equipment that was going to be hidden inside the suit… Adult Dick had come to accept a lot of tech; probably mostly because he, too, had lost or come close to lose loved ones, knowing that better equipment might have made the difference between life and death. But this boy would no doubt baulk at the thought of being under such strict surveillance.

When he had first arrived back in this time, Bruce remembered that he had hesitated to make a new suit too reinforced, precisely because it would inhibit Robin's movements and perhaps put him in danger. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe that only a few weeks had passed.

He heaved a sigh but made a point of keeping his voice stern when he turned to the boy.

"You give me a sketch of something that covers your arms and legs, and we'll talk about it. But we are going to use this Nomex; you will not find a more flexible yet durable material on the market. And you will need better armour around the torso and shoulders."

"That cape looks like it weighs a ton! My Robin cape is all right, but that is seriously going to get in my way!"

"It's the best heat and fire resistant material there is."

"… Why would I need that?"

"You might also want to look into some kind of weapon."

"... Weapon?!"

"There are other weapons than guns, Dick. Batarangs are a kind of weapon, after all, and you have put your sling to good use, from time to time. I think you could find something that will increase your effectiveness as a fighter. Perhaps a bo staff or… I... I once knew a man who used eskrima sticks. He was athletic but not very heavy, and he went through his adversaries like a whirlwind with the help of his eskrimas."

Dick pursed his lips, cocked his head and made a noise in the back of his throat; after having considered a moment he asked, "Can I see him? Is there a video online, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid not."

There must have been something in his voice, because Dick's eyes widened for a moment, and after a brief hesitation he said, "Oh. I'm sorry… Is he dead?"

"... I hope not. We just… lost touch."

"Is that bat-speak for that he got fed up with your brooding?"

It was meant as a joke; Bruce knew that. But it hit a bit too close to home for him to manage a smile.

"Hmh."

"Anyway… You didn't mean it, did you, when you said I needed a new suit to go out as Robin? It could take forever…"

"… This is exactly what I was talking about! You're going to persuade me to let you out, even though I know I shouldn't."

"… Good. Glad that's sorted, then."

"Dick… You're going to give me the first sketch of a new Robin suit within a week. You will not go out as Robin until I say so. You can count on that it will take time before I let you do anything strenuous. And if I tell you to leave a dangerous situation, you will do it."

"Hmh."

God, he's started to grunt. He never did that as a child – I've taught him that, Bruce thought with a sinking feeling.

"You will answer with spoken words, young man."

"How come I have to speak clearly when you don't? Not that I'm refusing – I like to talk – just wondering."

Contrary to popular belief, Batman did know when he was defeated – and how to use that as a weapon.

"… Because," he said with a sigh.

And right enough, his subtle admission of defeat tickled Dick's sense of humour, and he was rewarded with a teasing laugh.

* * *

 _I'm thinking that Batman's dream Robin suit is a cross between the heavily armoured Titans tv- show suit, (which I've only seen on photos) and the adult Robin suit of Earth-Two, which has the half-cowl and gives at least some protection for the head. I've posted a panel from "Interlude on Earth-Two", in The Brave and the Bold # 182._

 _I'd also like to remind you about the panel I've posted earlier, when Dick has issues with his Batsuit._

 _By the way, Robin actually did use a weapon in the very beginning, namely a sling._

 _As a bonus feature, I've made a list of the women Batman and/or Bruce dated or was involved with in pre Flashpoint comics._

 _See the evidence to all above on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	23. Chapter 23

"Where are we going, Bruce?"

"You'll see, as soon as you've mastered the art of patience, chum."

"... Does that mean you're going to drive around Gotham until I'm patient? Because otherwise, I'm fairly certain that it doesn't matter whether I learn to be patient or not, we'll get there anyway."

"I guess you've got me there, Dick... But let's pretend, shall we?"

The boy flashed a smile. Bruce had hardly let him outside the Manor since the incident, and he was apparently excited to get out again, even if it were for a daytime trip with Bruce and not a nighttime outing with Batman.

Bruce fully intended to stall Robin's comeback for as long as he could, but Dick was another matter. The boy needed to get out from the lonely manor, and spending time with his guardian in their civilian identities would do their relationship good. In the last few weeks, it had already had more ups and downs than during at least the first five years of Bruce's guardianship in his original timeline.

The ad he had spotted in the morning paper the previous day had been too good an opportunity to pass. The corners of his mouth lifted, thinking about how excited Dick, who presently was squirming in the passenger seat, would be when they reached their destination.

"We're not driving to central Gotham, so clearly you're not taking me to the office. Or to Leslie's. Or the zoo or somewhere else in the city. But you didn't turn off to the airport, and you're not heading to the state highway, so I guess Star City and Central City and Metropolis are out of the question."

"... Logical. But my lips are still sealed."

When they turned off the main road leading to Burnside, the cat was out of the bag. A large circus tent was clearly visible, and Dick immediately plastered himself to the window to get a better look.

"A circus…" He turned and looked at his guardian, saying, "Are we going there, Bruce?", with hope in his voice.

"We sure are, chum. I've got tickets for the matinee performance."

For once, he had hit the nail when it came to his relationship with Dick, Bruce congratulated himself a bit later. Looking at the boy's happy smile and the attention with which he followed every act, you couldn't guess that he must have seen hundreds of hours of similar performances.

The crowds, the sounds and smells of animals and the circus tent and the larger-than-life style of the performance – all things that went against the grain for Bruce Wayne – were obviously soothingly familiar to his ward.

When a man, dressed in a leopard-spotted tunic, came into the ring soon after the break, the boy eagerly gripped Bruce's arm.

"Bruce... Bruce! Look, it's Sando! He used to be with Haly's. He let me win at tug-at-war, sometimes!"

Sando the Strongman, as he was announced, was tall and had a large frame, considerably broader than Batman. He grinned good-naturally as he turned around and waved to the audience all around the tent; Bruce had actually no problem seeing the man pretend to be dragged along by a tiny Dick Grayson, for all that he could pick up even the adult Dick with one hand.

Dick looked on with rapt attention, and a big grin on his face, as the man from his past performed his feats in the centre ring, only taking his eyes off the strongman to once in a while glance at Bruce. But when the act was over, the boy's face fell, and he sat back with a wistful look on his face.

Bruce leaned closer.

"You all right, chum?"

Dick immediately schooled his face to a reassuring smile.

"Sure, Bruce."

When Bruce lifted his eyebrows and kept looking at him, the boy shrugged, looked down and continued in a low voice.

"It just made me think… Sando's act was just like I remembered… And it really hasn't been that long since I saw him… Less than three years."

He glanced up at his guardian.

"It just feels like an eternity, for me. But it actually wasn't all that long since… I left the circus, and, you know… It feels much longer, is all… Like another life."

Bruce felt as if he suddenly got an ice block in his stomach. Damn, perhaps I shouldn't have taken him, he thought; but he's always seemed to enjoy when we go to the circus.

As if Dick could feel his worries, the boy gave him another quick smile, more genuine than the last one.

"I can't wait to see Sando after the performance," he said and turned his attention back to the circus ring, where a group of white circus horses with plumes on their heads were currently performing.

The boy seemed to continue to enjoy the show; Bruce relaxed and made an effort to concentrate on what was going on instead of letting the thoughts return to his current predicament. He could use a break; it was something of a strain, to repeatedly try to remember what had happened a long time ago.

He felt a twist of bad conscience; those memories could mean the difference between life and death for people, but in a way, he wished he would be confronted with cases that he had never encountered before. It would be restful, to have to live entirely in the present and not in two timelines at the same time.

Aaand there he was again, getting caught up in his time displacement instead of enjoying some down time with his ward, Bruce thought with a wry smile. He glanced at the boy, who was munching on the last of the popcorns and smiling at the performing horses. If he remembered the program correctly, only the fire performance remained.

He fully expected the boy, who was seldom a poster child for patience, to be on his feet as soon as the show had ended with a parade of all the performers and before the applause had ceased; but Dick stayed in his seat with no other outward sign of impatience than kicking his feet until most of the crowd had dispersed. Then he stood up and pushed his guardian lightly on the shoulder.

"Come on, Bruce, I want to say hi to Sando," he said, and hurried a few steps away.

"Don't get lost in the crowd, chum."

Dick huffed.

"How can I get lost when you know where I'm going and I know where the car is?" he said, but he waited for the older man to catch up and then, unexpectedly, grabbed hold of Bruce's hand and dragged him along.

Bruce felt something squeeze his heart. He had never been a demonstrative person, and he was certain Dick would have touched and held his hand a lot more if he didn't give out clear don't-touch-me vibes, but the return to the circus seemed to make Dick forget that. He kept a light hold and let the boy lead him out of the tent and to the trailers where the performers lived.

"I remember, that one is Sando's," said Dick and let go of Bruce's hand to point to a green trailer.

By habit, Bruce was keeping an eye on his surroundings; they were in the middle of a small village of trailers, tents and equipment for the performance. They were quite alone; it was out of the way for the audience walking back to their cars or the bus stop, and the performers had probably not finished with the tasks after the matinée.

When he spotted two men in suits on the other side of the caravan park, he studied them carefully; they looked to be neither performers nor the kind of audience that might go around the back to have a chat with the circus people.

He stiffened – damn, he knew those men – as Batman. They were part of a gang of robbers operating in Gotham and nearby cities, even if he had never been able to prove it. Only a few days ago, the gang had robbed a jewellery shop in the nearby town of Midville. And now, they were heading straight in the direction of the green caravan.

Once again, there was something unsettlingly familiar about the scene. He had been in a situation very similar to this, but he couldn't remember what had happened.

For a moment, he thought about pretending he hadn't recognised the men to keep Dick out of trouble, but it was too late. When he looked down, the boy met his gaze with lifted eyebrows and a nod towards the men.

"It's those robbers. Are you going to change and go after them?"

Busted. It would seem very out of character if he didn't get into his Batman suit and confronted the men.

He put a hand on Dick's shoulder and steered him away, trying to make it look like they were walking around and hadn't noticed the two men.

"Yes. And you are going to stay out of trouble and out of any kind of action. Is that clear?" he said gravely, once they were well out of sight.

The boy grumbled but nodded. Bruce squeezed his shoulder before he straightened up and made a bee-line for his car to get what he needed to transform into Batman.

When he came back, the first thing he saw was the two men coming out of Sando's green trailer. He looked around for Dick, worried that the boy would have disobeyed him when the men entered his friend's caravan, but relaxed when he spotted the legs of the boy behind a trailer further away. With that worry out of the way, Batman stepped forward, straight in front of the two gang members.

"Huh? Batman," one of them gasped.

The other man instantly whipped out a pistol.

"This place has enough clowns, without a Bat," he sneered, as his companion let his hand fall over his pocket.

Surrounded by tents and caravans made of wood, Batman had no chance to take cover from the bullets. But there was huge ball lying close to him; the balancing ball from the elephant act. He immediately threw himself at it, pushing it towards the men.

The heavy ball crashed into the armed man and made his shots go wild. Batman threw a worried glance over his shoulder to where he had seen Dick waiting, but the shots went nowhere close to the boy, who had gone down on his hands and knees when he heard the shots fired.

He heard the clinking sound of metal hitting metal, and the roar of a wild animal, but ignored it and concentrated on the two men who were drawing apart to make it as difficult as possible for him to take them down; wild animals were part of the background noise of a circus.

He hadn't had any reason to take the men in when he confronted them; he had planned to try to intimidate them into saying something incriminating, but now that they had opened fire he could take them in and deliver them to the police.

But his attention was yanked from the men when he heard a boy's voice shouting.

"Batman! A tiger is escaping."

Batman turned sharply against the voice and saw Dick run from his hiding place. He looked to see what the boy was running towards and felt a chill run through his body.

The shot had somehow broken the lock to a tiger's cage, and the animal had escaped. No doubt it was angry and scared by the sudden sound; the tiger's ears were flat against the skull, the tail lashing and it was growling, standing its ground just outside the transport cage.

The only wild feline that Batman was used to handling was Catwoman; even so, he did know that he would have to appear intimidating to prevent the animal from attacking. Dick had grabbed a chair on his way and approached the tiger slowly, shouting at the top of his voice.

The tiger could not be permitted to leave the circus; Batman left the robbers and ran towards the animal, gripping his cape and flapping it around him, trying to look as large as possible.

Cornered with its back against the fallen cage, and Batman and Dick Grayson trying to block its way, the tiger continued to growl, alternately taking a few steps forward and a few steps back.

Batman heard the sound of people running towards them, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the enraged animal; consequently, he was taken by surprise when the cage suddenly was thrown over the tiger. His eyes flickered up, and he relaxed when he saw that the strongman had come to their aid and lifted the cage over the animal.

Clearly, he couldn't take the boy anywhere, Batman thought sourly. He knew that Dick would keep his love to the circus and over the years. He had returned many times; sometimes to watch a show, sometimes to perform, but the visits had far too often ended in near-death situations. Why would today be any different?

"How did the tiger get loose? What happened here?" the man asked.

By now, there were surrounded by half a dozen of the circus people, including a woman that Batman remembered was the owner.

"Two men who are suspects in a robbery case were inside your trailer, Mr Sando," Batman replied. "When they saw me, one of them started shooting, and a bullet must have broken the lock."

The man stiffened, scratched his neck and his eyes darted sidewards, soon landing on Dick.

"… Why… Dick! It is Dick, isn't it?"

Dick grinned at the man.

"Hello, Sando! I was at the matinee and wanted to see you, but I got stuck with the tiger... and Batman!"

"Dickie… Imagine that… I haven't seen you for years. At least you know your way around tigers, kiddo."

"Lucky for us you turned up, Sando, we couldn't have kept her forever."

The man's forehead furrowed and he looked around.

"You're not here alone, Dick?"

"… I wasn't. But Bruce, my guardian, needed to run an errand. I wanted to see you, so he promised to pick me up later."

Batman decided to break into the conversation.

"Do you have any idea what two men from a known criminal gang would want with you, Mister Sando?"

The strongman stared into the ground again, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"… No… No, I don't."

"Do you mind if I take a look inside your caravan? Perhaps there is something that can explain it there."

Sando kept staring into the ground, and beside him, he could see Dick crossing his arms and look at him with narrowing eyes. Dick was always quick to defend his friends; he would not like Batman's implication.

Before Sando could answer, the circus owner broke in.

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm calling the police. Someone using a firearm around the circus is bad news, and god knows it's better we call it in than somebody else."

The woman took up her mobile phone and glanced at the strongman.

"I'm sure there's nothing you have to hide for Batman, Sando," she said before she walked away to make a call.

The man made a short, jerking move with his head towards the door.

"Go ahead, Batman," he said, in a low voice.

It was evident that the circus performer was hiding something; his body language screamed guilt and shame, but not necessarily defiance. It all felt familiar enough to Batman that he was confident he had worked on the case before, but he couldn't remember what had happened. He was going to keep an open mind about the man's guilt, but he had to see the thing through, and he gently opened the door and stepped up in the caravan. Sando followed but stayed in the door, and he could see Dick standing behind his old circus friend and try to see what was going on.

Batman looked around the caravan. It looked as one might expect a home on wheels for a single man would look like; except for a lone piece of weightlifting equipment. It was standing in a corner, the only piece of work equipment in the room.

Immediately, Batman knew that the barbell was part of the solution; he went over to it, and a closer looked showed that one of the large balls was only half screwed on.

Dick is not going to like this, Batman thought sadly as he gripped the ball and started unscrewing it.

As soon as the ball came free, something fell out and clinked against the floor. Batman crouched and picked the object up – a glittering jewel.

He heard Dick gasp from the door.

* * *

 _Inspired by "The man from Robin's past", by Bill Finger, art by Sheldon Moldoff and Charles Paris. In Batman # 129._

 _Dick has returned to the circus many times over the years. He usually ends up in danger. There's a blog post and a video on Tumblr._

 _However they manage to walk around with their superhero costumes hidden under their ordinary clothes, I do not know. (Except Superman, who at least once upon a time had Clark Kent's clothes compressed in a pocket in his cape. And Flash had his in a ring, I believe.)_

 _The original Robin suit is one thing, with short sleeves and legs and a flimsy cape, but how can a heavy Batcape, a semi-hard cowl, and the bulky belt be hidden under Bruce Wayne's clothes? But they go out in one identity and change when something happens often enough that one has to accept that it works… But since they had come in a car this time, I chose to let Bruce have at least part of the Batsuit hidden there._

 _Once, Dick brought the Nightwing suit with him in a backpack, in Nightwing # 50. I've posted a panel on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	24. Chapter 24

"I don't believe it, Bruce! Someone is setting Sando up."

Dick was standing in the Batcave, purposefully avoiding to look at the mannequin with the offending proposed Robin costume, hands on his hips and chin forward.

The strongman had offered no explanation when Batman had found one of the jewels stolen from the store in Midville hidden in his caravan. He had hung his head and repeated that he had nothing to say, not even volunteering anything when Dick had tried to coax him. Only when Dick had asked about his son, Andy, had Sando showed some emotion, lifting his head and exclaiming, "Keep Andy out of this! He must not be involved!" with clenched hands.

"The jewels were probably hidden in the barbell when the circus played in Midville last week," Batman said. "Sando refused to identify the thugs from the rogue's gallery, but I have a feeling he knew them."

"He wouldn't even talk to me…"

"He did say he didn't want his son to be involved. Could it be that Sando is covering up for the boy…"

So far, he couldn't remember the pertinent details of the case; he only knew that Batman and Robin had been involved. But he was fairly certain that Sando's son was a key to the mystery.

Dick looked away from Batman and out into the darkness on the edge of the cave.

"I asked around; Andy is going to college in Midville, where the robbery took place. I don't remember much of him, but he was a nice guy. He wasn't a circus kid, at heart, though; not like me. I think we'd better have a talk with him."

"I will, Dick. You're still grounded from Robin."

"Come on… It's only talking to someone."

"If I can't even take Dick Grayson to the circus without you starting to fight tigers, I shudder to think what you would get into as Robin. You're staying."

"I couldn't very well let the tiger run away. The police would have killed her!"

"…"

"… And she could have hurt people, too."

"Nevertheless."

"I hardly feel the stab wound any longer."

"Nice try, kiddo… I've been stabbed before, too," Batman replied, flatly.

This turned out to be a poor choice of words because the boy nodded slowly and lifted his eyebrows.

"… And it's never stopped you from running out the next day."

"Dick… You're trying my patience. I know it's a lot to expect that you will do as I say and not as I do, but it's for your own good. You are still a child, and I'm not letting you jeopardise your health, as long as I can prevent it. Now, go up and rest. I'm going on patrol, and I'll go to see Andy in Midville first thing tomorrow. I promise I will come straight back here and tell you what I found out before I follow up on any leads."

Dick huffed and pouted, but gave in.

"All right," he grumbled. "See you tomorrow, Bruce."

* * *

The following morning, Batman drove the Batmobile to a stop in front of Midville college, parked it and walked up to the students, on their way to their lessons, made little effort to hide their curiosity, and beside the wide-eyed glances he received he could hear them whisper about Batman – and Robin – around him.

This was a big part of why he preferred to work during the night – but there were some things that had to be done, even if the sun shone from a clear sky.

He did know what Andy Sando looked like, and what subjects the young man was taking since he had looked it up by hacking the college computer the night before. He made his way to the building where he knew Andy was supposed to have his first lesson and spoke to a group of youngsters that was standing outside.

Batman took out a picture of the student and showed it to the group, who stared fascinated at him.

"I'm looking for Andy Sando. Have any of you seen him today?"

Several of the students shook their head with a disappointed mien, but one of the young women took a hesitating step forward.

"He just left, Batman… I would guess he's probably at the Green Anchor Nightclub. Lately, he's been palling around with some… characters who hang out there," she told him.

"Thank you, miss. You've been a great help."

The Green Anchor… It didn't look good for young Sando, Batman thought. He knew that the club was owned by a gangster named Art Colby, and he could remember himself and Robin sneaking in there to look for the youngster. They had arrived right on time, hadn't they… He would have to break his promise to Dick – hopefully, he would find the young man there and find out what was going on.

He drove straight to the club, taking care to park the Batmobile out of sight, and made his way over the roofs of Midville to the nightclub. He found an open window and climbed inside, moving carefully around, looking for signs of life. Soon enough, he picked up the sound of voices coming from downstairs.

Batman moved closer to the sound and strained his hearing, and heard an upset voice speaking.

"Now I realise your gang pulled that jewel robbery! Two nights ago, when you and your men came along with me to meet my father, it was only to hide the diamonds in his caravan so you could smuggle them out of Midville, undetected."

He had timed his visit perfectly – he was hearing young Andy Sando talking, and the situation started to feel even more familiar.

"The paper says my father won't talk… But that's because he thinks he's protecting me! He thinks I hid the diamonds because he knows I've been hanging around with your men," the voice continued.

"If you think you're going to the police to clear your father, you're dead wrong, kid. Grab him, boys!" another voice replied.

Batman was just outside the door when he heard the last words, and decided he had heard enough. He entered the room – the dining room of the nightclub, filled with set tables and a decor reminiscing off a ship – and ran to attack the four men surrounding the student.

"It's Batman," one of the men gasped.

Batman knocked the first man down and stopped the next one from scrambling away with a firm grip of the jacket. He had had Robin with him, the last time, but four men shouldn't be a problem, especially since he was much more skilled than he had been at this age the first time around.

He had an unpleasant feeling that there was something he mustn't miss… But he had learned his lesson; he couldn't let himself be guided by near-memories instead of being aware of what was happening around him. Batman knocked the second man out, threw himself into a low flip to move to another position, and stopped low to take stock of the situation and plan his next move.

Art Colby, the man who owned the club, had brought out his gun and was pointing it – not at Batman, but at the rope that supported a giant, green anchor hanging from the roof.

That was what his memory tried to tell him – Colby had shot down the anchor, and it had nearly hit Robin. Colby and two of his men had almost got away with Andy, thanks to the distraction when Batman had thrown himself to get the boy safely out of harm's way.

But now Robin was safely tucked away at the manor; Batman rushed at Colby and dropped him with a powerful uppercut. He turned towards the last man, but found him already lying down; young Sando had taken things into his own hands and tackled the man to the floor.

Batman nodded in silent approval; he took out the rope from his utility belt to tie the gang up.

"You should call the police," he advised Andy.

Art Colby turned on the floor, groaned and looked up; even though he was down, he managed a smug smile.

"You've got no evidence, Batman. No diamonds to prove a case against me. But you did find evidence in Sando's caravan… So he's still the suspect."

Batman took a second to think about it, and then replied.

"I there are no diamonds here, that means your men have already taken them to a fence."

* * *

"The police has taken Colby's gang into custody, and I've made my statement. I think Andy is safe from suspicion," Batman finished his recapitulation of the day's events to Dick in the Batcave.

The boy pressed his lips together, crossed his arms and stared into the ground. Something was clearly bothering the boy…

"I apologise for not keeping my promise to come straight to you, Dick…"

Once again, he had chosen the wrong words. Dick shook his head and glared at him.

"I'm not a stupid kid who can't see priorities, Batman! Of course you did the right thing, going straight there so you could help Andy. But we still can't prove that Sando is innocent, can we?"

Batman gave him a small smile and took out something from his belt.

"I think we can. I searched Colby and found this note. What are your deductions from this?"

Dick eagerly took the note and read it out loud.

"21/7. Will have cash for merchandise today."

He cocked his head and chewed on his lip.

"I guess the merchandise is the stolen jewels… It must be from the fence."

Batman waited patiently; the young boy had much to learn before he would be as good a detective as his adult counterpart.

Dick gave him a sideways glance.

"I suppose there's something here that should tell me who the fence is? You wouldn't look so smug if it weren't."

"… Smug?" Batman almost choked. "You couldn't even see if I looked smug, with the cowl on."

"Sure I can, big man. That's your smug smile; when you think you're clever."

He made an effort to school his features into a neutral look.

"If you're half as observant when it comes to clues, you'll soon solve cases faster than I, chum."

Dick flashed him a smile and looked again at the note.

"There's something… weird about it. The normal way to write July 21 would be 7/21…"

"Normal…?"

"Normal for an American…. Which means… Whoever wrote this is not American. Probably British."

Dick's head whipped up.

"Limey Lou? We've suspected he's a fence, but we haven't been able to prove it."

"I think you're right, Dick.

"… And you're not going to let me come out with me this time either, I suppose…"

"Right again… Tomorrow you have an appointment with Leslie; if she gives her blessing, I'll let you start with some light training, after that. I'm going to check up on Limey Lou's hiding place."

"Can I wait here until you come back?"

"… Why would you want to do that? It's chilly, and you know you not permitted to train."

"I can use the computer to check up on the usual suspects… And that way, you can't sneak past me when you get back. I want to know that Sando's safe."

"… You can stay, but no later than ten o'clock. If I'm out later than that, I'll talk to you tomorrow. And Alfred will keep an eye on that you're not working out."

"Mhm."

* * *

When Batman returned, some hours later, he found the boy half asleep in the chair by the Batcomputer. He had a cold pot of tea and a plate with crumbles beside him and was swept in a heavy wool blanket. Clearly, Alfred had been visiting.

"Mmm. Batman?"

"Yes, I'm back."

Dick stretched and looked up with large, worried eyes.

"Did everything work out?"

"Perfectly all right. I caught Limey Lou redhanded, with the rest of the missing diamonds. The police have him in custody, and Sando is cleared from all suspicions."

Dick sighed contentedly.

"That's great… Oh, and everyone is locked up that should be locked up."

"Have you been looking at news reports?"

"Nah – at least, I looked at some, but mainly, I've been training to hack the security cameras in Arkham and Blackgate. I couldn't access all of them, I need to work on that, but everything was calm enough, so I think it's safe to say no-one has got out."

"…"

"Okay. No-one has been found out, getting out."

"Hnh."

"I did see some of the cells, though. Poison Ivy was safely locked up, and Killer Croc, and Firefly. And the Mad Hatter."

"Hmh."

"Hey, Batman. Do you know how the Mad Hatter got his name?"

"… What do you mean?"

"Why it's called mad as a hatter?"

"… Remind me."

"I looked it up," the boy proclaimed, proudly. "I couldn't think of anyone else to check up on, so…"

"… And?"

"They used toxic chemicals in the felting process, a long time ago. And felt was used for making hats. So a lot of hatters got mercury poisoning, which caused trembling and anxiety. Remind me that I need to make a pun about that, the next time the Mad Hatter is on the loose…"

* * *

 _Inspired by "The man from Robin's past", by Bill Finger, art by Sheldon Moldoff and Charles Paris. In Batman # 129._

 _I found the detail about the expression "as mad as a hatter" at an exhibition at Victoria and Albert Museum recently, and I just had to incorporate it in the fic, somehow. Instead of a whole chapter about the Mad Hatter, you got this... No need to thank me for not wasting your time!_


	25. Chapter 25

Did paperwork actually multiply if you left them in an empty room? And whatever happened to the paperless office, Bruce mused as he looked over his desk in the Wayne Enterprises headquarter.

For all that he was generally considered to be more interested in polo horses than in the demand and supply of Wayne Enterprises' products, Bruce Wayne's signature was still needed on certain documents.

Since Dick had an appointment with Leslie at the Free Clinic, and Alfred was going to drive the boy there and pick him up after running some errands, Bruce had decided to go to the office and get some work done. With all the experience he had of heading the company in different capacities from his earlier life, the tasks that he was supposed to do weren't difficult. But even after two hours of work, the stacks of paper seemed to be just as high as when he started, and he had hardly made a dent in the inbox of his email.

It wasn't an entirely unwelcome distraction when his mobile chirped – at least it wasn't a police siren, or a steam train signal, this time; Dick had had mercy on him…

The caller id disclosed who was on the other end – no doubt wanting to talk to him in person, rather than relying on Alfred as a go-between.

"Leslie?"

"… Bruce, I'm sorry to disturb you when you're working. But you need to come and pick Dick up."

He glanced at his watch.

"Alfred should be coming for him in less than an hour."

"No Bruce, you'll have to come yourself."

He fought down a surge of panic. Leslie would have told him if there was something wrong with Dick. But what could the child have done for Leslie to want him out of there?

"What happened?" he asked, as he rose from his desk.

"… It was an unfortunate coincidence. I had a team here inspecting the clinic. Dick was doing some acrobatics to cheer up the kids in the waiting room, he was walking around on his hands, and of course, the t-shirt fell down and exposed his torso. One in the team is doctor Alice Lan; she's very dedicated to children's rights and a consultant to the CPS. She saw Dick's scars… I'm afraid she might start something. I only hope you'll be able to sweet-talk her out of it."

"… I'll be right over."

It was just as well that no-one really expected Bruce Wayne of this era to take his company very seriously; there was nothing stopping him from leaving the papers on his desk, tell his secretary he needed to pick up Dick and escape the office.

He had tried all kinds of different approaches to his company during the years – everything from uninterested playboy to hardworking CEO. There was no question which was most convenient if he wanted to concentrate on his work as Batman, but being distant from the company also meant a bigger risk of losing control. Oliver Queen would learn that, in time.

Perhaps not this time, though; if Bruce could get through that thick skull of the man. It would have been easier if the archer was already in a relationship with Dinah Lance, who was a sensible woman…

Ollie had managed to keep going as Green Arrow even when he didn't have his company, but truth be told, Bruce couldn't see Batman being very efficient without his funding. He would be able to fight street-level crime, but his capacity to monitor larger threats would be severely hampered. And the Wayne money was instrumental for the League, as well.

He sighed, on the way out from the office building; he really needed to take a greater interest in his company again.

Bruce got into the car and headed north in the direction of Crime Alley and the clinic, brooding over the upcoming discussion – if it indeed were as bad as Leslie feared.

During his more than a decade as a foster parent, this was certainly not the first time that someone had tried to take one of the kids away – and this particular incident had never even happened in his past. He briefly wondered whether it would have been different if he had been married – or a woman.

If someone wanted to take Robin away from Batman, he could have understood. But instead, people tried to take the boy from Bruce Wayne, eligible bachelor and financially capable of taking care of dozens of orphans.

He was aware that Dick at times had had… issues about his place in the family. Bruce's own emotional incompetence had certainly been a factor, but he couldn't help but blaming part of it on the attempts to remove him from Wayne Manor.

Survivor's guilt and repeatedly afraid of losing his new home… However Dick turned out as well-adjusted as he did… I must have done something right, for all my shortcomings, Bruce mused while he drove his car into the small parking lot beside the Free clinic.

He went in and headed for Leslie's office, passing the entrance to the waiting room where Dick was sitting, very still, his arms wrapped around himself and staring down at the floor. It was clear that he somehow had picked up what his acrobatics had lead to.

Bruce hesitated, almost turning into the room to reassure the miserable boy; then he took a deep breath and continued. The threat to their home needed to be dealt with first.

He walked into the corridor leading to Leslie's room and knocked on her door, mentally preparing himself for a fight. It only took a few seconds before Leslie opened the door for him.

"Bruce; I'm glad you could come so quickly. Come in."

She stepped away from the door opening to let him in and made a gesture to a woman, standing in front of a chair.

"Alice Lan. Bruce Wayne," she introduced them curtly. "I'll let you talk in private in here. Alice, if you have any more questions about Dick, come to see me or call whenever you need. Bruce, Dick is well on his way to recovery. He can start with light training now – I'm sure that will be a relief for both of you. But keep him away from the trapeze at least another week."

With that, Leslie nodded to both of them and left the room, closing the door behind her. Only then, Bruce realised that he hadn't decided what persona to use for the discussion. Playboy Brucie, Batman in civilian guise, the billionaire businessman, the orphan philanthropist…

The doctor didn't give him time to ponder further. She crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I understand you've been informed of my misgivings, Mister Wayne. I invite you to try to convince me that Richard Grayson comes to no harm under your roof. The amount of injuries that I could see has befallen him exceeds most things I've ever seen, even in cases of severe abuse."

Playboy Brucie would be useless against the direct approach of Doctor Lan, he decided.

He remained standing and resisted an impulse to shove his hands in his pockets or cross his arms – he needed to project calm and confidence, not defensiveness. He let the silence linger a few seconds before he started talking.

"I suppose Leslie has told you that Dick comes from a circus family? He already had a fair amount of scars when he came to live with me. He's had encounters with most everything, from hay forks to lions and tigers, I've been told."

Alice Lan gave him an unimpressed look.

"Be that as it may, Mister Wayne; several of those scars were more recent than that. And I understand that his latest injury happened only a few weeks ago."

"Dick is a very active boy. It's quite impossible to get him to sit still, besides what is necessary for homework. He insists on continuing to train as an acrobat. I believe it is important for him to keep his skills as a bond with his parents, so I've chosen to encourage him. And we've had our fair share of incidents with criminals. Unfortunately, too many Gothamites sees violence and threats as an acceptable source of income."

Some people – actually, most people – thought that Batman was tiresome in his zeal to prepare for everything. He had never let that bother him, and he was nothing but relieved that he regularly thought out cover stories for all Dick's visible injuries. He invariably let the boy learn them, too, so that they would tell the same story if anything like this happened.

That's why he could say, with conviction in his voice, "I'm sure Leslie already told you, but his most recent injury is the result of an accident when we went mountaineering in Canada."

She could dig as much as she wanted – Bruce had all the necessary paperwork to prove that he and Dick had used his private jet for a trip up north and that a local doctor had treated the wound. He even had an ice axe that was a good fit for Dick's stab wound. And if someone insisted on talking to the doctor – well, Martian Manhunter was but a phone call away. He was still wary of meeting the telepath in person, but a call shouldn't be a problem.

"I could clearly see a scar that must have come from a bullet wound."

"As I said, Doctor – Dick and I have unfortunately been victims of crime, more than once. Leslie or the police will have the details, depending on what injury you're interested in. I'm sorry to say that you are not the first person to ask for information about Dick, so they can probably find the files quickly enough."

"There was a scar from some type of jagged slash over his back."

A near miss from Killer Crook – that one had been a bit of a conundrum to come up with a plausible explanation for.

"That would… be from the time when Dick took a fall from a horse and fell unfortunate on a broken branch. It was sticking up beside the pathway, and it ripped a nasty wound when he fell."

Doctor Lan raised her eyebrows at him.

"… One might argue that you permit the boy too much freedom for dangerous past-times…"

"Dick pretty much learned to walk on a tightrope; he's not likely to find climbing trees intimidating. And he will try to swing from anything that is high enough. He broke a chandelier in our home when he used it for flips when he was younger. And once, a tree branch he was climbing broke, and he fell straight down in a glass greenhouse. You couldn't count the number of cuts he got from that one."

Bruce mentally excused himself to his ward, who would not appreciate being described as an impulsive thrill seeker. Dick might be less eager to plan ten steps ahead than his mentor, and far too careless of his own safety than Bruce appreciated, but he wouldn't have survived into adulthood if he were as irresponsible as Bruce was describing him.

"Mr Wayne, you know what they say about protesting too much…? It's obvious that you have explanations and, quite probably, impeccable proof for every injury I could find on Richard. Don't you think that this, in itself, is quite suspicious?"

Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, but he kept meeting her eyes.

"Doctor, several people have tried to remove Richard from my custody. Not all of them have done so with his best intentions at heart. I don't know you, but I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you are raising these questions because you want what's best for him, and no other reason. But I encourage you to get all the information and think carefully before you do something. Because I will fight you. The last thing Dick needs is to lose another family."

The doctor studied him with a steady gaze but didn't offer a return.

"Now, Doctor Lan, do you have any more questions? Or may I take my boy home?"

Alice Lan pursed her lips and continued to fix him with a look, letting him wait several seconds for a reply. Then she nodded curtly.

"Thank you, Mister Wayne. I will consider what you've told me. And get back to you."

That was not what Bruce wanted to hear but probably the best he could hope for at the moment. He rose, shook her hand and said goodbye, eager to pick up Dick.

The boy was still sitting still in the chair, looking smaller than usual and not even kicking his feet around. Bruce went up to him, stopped and waited for the boy to look up and acknowledge him.

"Come on, chum, we're going home."

After the initial glance, Dick stared down in the ground, but he made a short jerk with his head and got to his feet to follow Bruce from the waiting room and out to the car. It wasn't until they were several minutes away from the Free clinic that he said something, in a low voice and not looking at his guardian.

"I'm so sorry, Bruce. I was just so bored, I only had to see Leslie for a few minutes, and Alfred wouldn't come back for me in an eternity… And there were a few kids there. A girl who seemed really scared. And a boy – Jason – he was there with his mother. I think she must have some kind of problem because he seemed like he had to help her, even though he was just a little kid. He seemed tired and on edge. I just wanted to help them forget and relax for a little while… Will you… will you be getting in trouble?"

Bruce froze… Jason. Could it have been his Jason, living with his mother in the Crime Alley area? And he had missed him…

At least that would mean that Jason's mother was still alive and that they were in Gotham. Batman would have no trouble locating them, and he mentally pushed "find and help Jason" further up on his to-do-list. Somehow, he would make sure that the boy could go to a good school. Jason would enjoy that… His heart went out to the boy, forced to grow up much too fast and take responsibility instead of being taken care of.

It took a while for him to realise that Dick was staring down into his lap, blinking and with strained lines around his mouth. He had become so distracted thinking about Jason that he had forgotten to reassure the boy he had beside him.

I'm not screwing things up with him, this time, he swore to himself. I'll never make him feel unwelcome or say it was a mistake to work with a partner.

He reached out to put one hand on the boy's shoulder and give a reassuring squeeze.

"No Dick, you mustn't feel bad! I hope you'll remember to make sure your clothes will stay on the next time you decide to cheer up kids in a public area, but I know you didn't mean any harm. I'll be all right, and I won't let them take you from me. That's a promise, kiddo!"

Dick glanced at him from under his too long bangs – that's another thing that needed to be taken care of soon – with an uncertain expression. He looked as if he were about to speak, but bit his lip and fell silent.

Bruce waited patiently, and after a few more aborted attempts, Dick finally asked.

"What were you thinking about? You looked… so serious."

"… Just that having children is a lot more challenging… and a lot more rewarding… than I had ever thought, chum. Perhaps… perhaps one day, we will have a bigger family than you and I and Alfred. I think you'd make a fantastic big brother."

But it wouldn't be to Jason and Tim, Bruce thought with an empty feeling in his chest. Robin would start and end with Dick.

* * *

 _(Ok, sue me, I couldn't resist the suspicious social worker/doctor trope... ) At least three times, Bruce has been forced to go to trial to keep the guardianship of Dick. In Batman # 20, Batman # 57 and Nightwing # 75._

 _Oh, and there were those times when Dick got the impression that Bruce was replacing him with someone else. Who wouldn't have some insecurities after that? (Batman # 13, Batman # 65, Batman # 50.)_

 _Today it's hard to imagine Batman operating on a small budget, but Bruce Wayne was more moderately wealthy in the beginning (at the very start, he didn't have a mansion, or butler, or a Batcave, or even a Batmobile) and in Detective Comics # 105, he actually lost his fortune and Batman and Robin had to (among other things) perform at a circus to earn gas money for the Batmobile. Bruce was broke for all about 12 pages, that is… "The Batman Goes Broke". Detective Comics # 105 by Don Cameron, art by Win Mortimer._

 _Doctor Leslie Thompkins is a Bronze age addition to Batman's world. Her first appearance was in Detective Comics # 457; at that time she was a nice old lady but not a doctor, but she was later reimagined and has been called upon to save the lives of members of the Batfamily countless times._

 _Read and see more about this on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	26. Chapter 26

"Where is Master Richard, sir? I haven't seen him since breakfast."

Bruce looked up from sorting through his paperwork on the desk in his study to see his… butler… father figure… standing in the door.

"I gave him permission to use the gym in the cave."

"… You trust him not to overexert himself…?" said Alfred, with a raised eyebrow that spoke clearer than words what he thought about Bruce's gullibility.

Bruce had just wanted some peace and quiet… Even Dick would know not to overdo it too much, surely… He usually listened to Leslie, at least…

"I'll look in on him before I leave for the office," he promised.

Businessman Bruce Wayne had a couple of meeting in the afternoon, and stacks of un-read papers on his desk in the office at Wayne Enterprises. And truth be told, he was looking forward to escaping the Manor for a while – which was a completely new and unfamiliar feeling. Most of his life, he had seen the Manor and the cave under it as the epicentre of his mission. Office work or social functions were a necessity and something to get over and done with as soon as possible so that he could return to the Manor, the cave and the Batsuit.

But in this time he occasionally felt uncomfortable in the presence of Alfred. It was evident that both Alfred and Dick at times thought that he behaved oddly, but where Dick had tried to confront Bruce, Alfred was still – observing.

Dick was still a child who looked up to his guardian, and he didn't know Bruce as well as his adult counterpart did. Bruce would be able to deflect his suspicions, somehow. But Alfred – Alfred knew him as no-one else. The older man had made a few comments about his charge's new habits, but so far, he hadn't pushed.

What would he say, when Alfred finally confronted him? Would he be able to lie his father figure straight in the face? Did he have a chance to fool Alfred?

Did he even want to…?

A telephone signal interrupted his musings. He turned to look at the phone but made no move to answer – Alfred had trained that reflex out of him, a long time ago.

The butler calmly walked into the room, picked up the phone and answered, in his customary correct manner. After a few seconds, he asked the caller to wait and turned to Bruce with slightly raised eyebrows. Bruce nodded after a slight hesitation.

"Master Wayne is on his way," Alfred said into the phone; then he covered the mouthpiece and said in a low voice:

"It is Mr Hall, of the Gotham Gazette, sir."

John Hall, editor of the Gotham Gazette. At this time, Bruce Wayne was actually on the board of directors of the newspaper; a board that had a meeting later this day. He had seen the documents during his day at the office, but he never got to them before he was called away by Leslie.

"Bruce Wayne speaking."

"Mr Wayne! Thank you for talking to me! I… I need your help to save the Gazette…"

It did ring a bell. He had helped save the newspaper – he had even put in some hours as Bruce Wayne, playboy journalist – and there had been a criminal case involved.

"… Please go on, Hall."

He listened while John Hall explained that he had reason to believe that the directors were going to vote to discontinue the newspaper since it was losing money, but that the editor was on the verge of finishing a crime-exposé that he was confident would boost the circulation and save the paper.

"I'll see what I can do, Hall. I want to save the Gazette, too," he said when the editor had finished speaking.

He ended the call and put down the receiver. The board meeting was set to be in the afternoon – only a few hours away. He would buy the newspaper some more time there. And after that, he knew exactly whom to call for help.

* * *

"Clark Kent speaking."

"Clark! It's Bruce."

There was a moment's silence on the other end of the telephone line; fair enough, Bruce seldom called Clark Kent's phone number. The Man of Steel must be wondering what was going on.

"Oh – hi Bruce. What's on your mind?"

"I could use some help."

"… From Clark Kent…?"

"Mhm... Yes."

"Sure, Bruce… Do you want me to come over?"

"Please do. I'll be waiting. Downstairs."

"… O-kay. See you soon."

Bruce put down the handset and sat back in the office chair in the part of the Batcave that was furnished almost like an ordinary study, with a corner of bookcases filled with reference literature, computers on the desk and writing material readily available. In his own – old – time, most of the relevant reference literature had been digitalised, but here, books were still indispensable. When he heard the sound of light steps, he turned to see his ward approaching, dressed in workout clothes.

"Dick – you haven't been in the gym down here all day, have you? You know you have to take it easy in the beginning."

"Of course, Bruce," the boy answered, giving him his best, wide-eyed innocent look. "Is Clark coming over? What are you working on?"

Before Batman could reply, there was a rush of air, and Superman landed beside them.

"Uncle Clark!"

"Dick. I'm happy to see you're up and about," Superman answered with a fond smile.

"I'm just fine! I was just asking Batman what the case is," Dick said, and turned to look at his guardian, who merely grunted.

"What can I do?" the boy continued, unfazed.

"Nothing. Robin is not cleared for work."

"But…"

"No buts. You know where we stand, Dick. Why don't you go up and make some sketches of your new suit? The sooner we agree on a design, the sooner it will be ready."

"Hmh."

"Up you go," Bruce said, in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

The boy pressed his lips together, and a looked at his guardian with a slight furrow between the eyebrows, but after a few seconds he turned towards Superman and arranged his features into an easy grin. With a cheerful, "Bye, Uncle Clark", he turned towards the staircase.

"I'll see you at dinner, Dick," Bruce called after him, trying to end on a positive note.

The only reply he got was a noncommittal grunt.

Superman looked after Dick with a small frown.

"He's not a teenager yet, is he? When did he start to grunt instead of talking?"

"Hmh."

"... Sorry, dumb question... What I meant was, when did you pick up the habit so that Dick could take after you, Bruce? You didn't use to grunt as much."

Bruce was at a loss about how to answer – fortunately, he had something to talk about to take the Kryptonian's mind off his speaking habits.

"I'm in need of a good journalist or two, Clark. I was hoping you could help me out."

".. Do tell."

"The board of directors is threatening to discontinue the Gotham Gazette."

"What… But that would leave Gotham without a serious newspaper!"

"Most of the members are interested in profit, Clark. Not journalism."

"But think of…"

"We have 30 days," Batman cut him off. "The editor, John Hall, claims he is on the verge of exposing a big crime, and he's confident that the story will turn the numbers into black. I've promised to help. I want to save the newspaper, but of course, I'm also interested in helping to break up whatever crime he's after."

"Crime sells newspapers in Gotham, I take it…?"

"Mhm. According to Hall, the last time the Gazette sold well was over a month ago, when they ran Larry Spade's story about an insurance racket. Spade was dying by then – Robin and I helped to wrap it up."

"… Bruce. You know I want to help. But I'd like to talk to you about… Well, I don't know what, precisely, but something has been bothering you these last few weeks."

Batman silently cursed to himself. Upstairs, he had Alfred observing him as if he were a strange specimen. And downstairs, he had to call in help from one of the few persons who had the nerve to try to talk about personal things with Batman.

"Nothing is bothering me, Clark. Now, about the Gazette…"

"I'm not blind, you know. There have been several small things that have been off about you, lately. I didn't think much of it the last time we worked together because I thought you were merely frustrated by being forced to sit still. But after the League meeting, I started to think about it… One incident, or two, I would say it was a sudden mood. But when it adds up…"

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

Superman started to count on his fingers.

"Your odd behaviour when Robin and I took on the Purple Mask gang. The Joker needed medical attention, after your last encounter. So did more than one of the bank robbers the other week, when Robin was hurt. You speak less and grunt more, and it's obvious that something is bothering Dick; probably your behaviour. And what was that equipment you installed and removed in the League headquarter, the last time you put in an appearance?"

"…"

"I know you removed it, and you know I trust you, Bruce. But I was hoping you would bring it up voluntarily."

There was nothing to it – he had to explain that one. And at least he could do so truthfully; he had even thought about talking to Clark about it, after all.

"… I tested a new audio and video transmitter. I'm worried that if the headquarter is compromised, we will be cut out from the system. I would like to install something that I can access from the Batcave."

"And you didn't bring this up with us, because…?"

"I wanted to build something that would work satisfactorily before I talked to you."

The lie slipped easily over his lips; but judging by the way Superman lifted his eyebrows, the man was not entirely convinced.

"You didn't attend the last League meeting, either. You've only been to one meeting the last month. Are you avoiding us?"

"… I've been busy. My first priority is Gotham. You know this," Batman replied, permitting a touch of growl into his voice.

"I know you've been busy. You've solved crimes like you're setting a new personal record. But there hasn't been any major threats."

"And how would you know…"

Superman sighed.

"I'm a journalist, Bruce. I read and listen to the news from Gotham. I checked the Police bulletins. Not to mention I make a habit of keeping an eye on the Internet forum "The Batman Dailies"; you have some fans who write daily essays on what you're up to. Or at least what they think you're up to. This Spring, they were convinced that you were training three more Robins, so I don't normally take their information at face value. But I think there would have been more of a buzz if something big was going on."

"… There really isn't anything I can tell you, Clark. I'm busy with keeping Gotham safe, same as always."

Superman crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Batman, silent and thinking. And probably checking for physiological signs that he was lying, Bruce thought wryly; it was a good thing that he had a longer experience with keeping his thoughts and reactions to himself than Superman could ever guess.

Eventually, Superman capitulated.

"All right. I guess I will get no further this time, but I am going to come back to this later, Bruce. I'd appreciate if you prepared an honest answer until then. Now, what can I do about the Gazette?"

"The Gazette could use the help of a few good journalists. Can you talk Perry White into letting you work here again, for a while? If you can get him to send someone else along, even better."

"We-ell. I suppose I know how to get Perry fired up…"

Their conversation came to a stop when Alfred turned up on Clark's elbow with a large silver tray, loaded with a teapot, cups and a selection of dainty pastries and sandwiches.

"Good afternoon, sirs. I thought you might want to continue your conversation over a cup of tea."

Bruce leaned over towards the tray and sniffed the air.

"Earl Grey, Alfred?"

"Of course, sir. Your taste when it comes to tea hasn't changed since you were a lad, after all," Alfred replied, in a carefully neutral voice that suggested that he didn't altogether approve.

Clark accepted his teacup with a happy smile.

"Thank you, Alfred! You make the best tea. I don't even dare tell you how I prepare tea, in my flat…"

"I'm sure you can't measure up to Master Bruce, sir. I know for a fact that he once used the hot water tap when I was out of the kitchen for a short while."

"What? No! Bruce…"

"Hnh. Hot water is hot water…."

"I promise, Alfred, I boil my water before I pour it over the teabag…"

"I'm pleased to hear that, sir. Now, is there anything else you require, Master Bruce? Otherwise, I shall go upstairs and take care of the young Master."

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll see both of you for dinner," Bruce said after the retreating butler before he turned back to Superman who was happily munching on a sandwich.

"As I was saying… The Gazette can use any help you can get out of White. I intend to volunteer myself, too."

Luckily, Superman had just swallowed the last bite of his sandwich; with the face he was making, he might have choked on it otherwise.

"… You, Bruce?"

"Yes. I. Bruce."

"Ehm…"

"Come on, you can say it… Who would want a playboy reporter?"

"Since you put it that way…"

"I'll have you know that I studied some journalism back in college. And I want to get a foot in, to find out more about that criminal case."

Superman shrugged.

"Well, I suppose Hall won't refuse you. I'll get back to Metropolis and try to con Perry into letting me and Lois work in Gotham for a few weeks. If everything works out, I'll see you at the Gazette tomorrow.

* * *

 _Inspired by "The Super-Newspaper of Gotham City." By Edmond Hamilton, art Dick Sprang and Charles Paris. In World's Finest Comics # 80._

 _In Legends of the Dark Knight # 6, you can see that part of the Batcave is furnished with bookcases and desks, like a miniature library or study._

 _Earl Grey is the preferred tea in Wayne Manor, I've checked! (I suspect this has more to do with what American comic book writers know about tea than anything else… But I could just be prejudiced, of course…)_

 _See more on tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	27. Chapter 27

"Miss Lane. Kent," Bruce said, greeting the two reporters from the Daily Planet who were waiting inside the Gazette's editorial office.

Superman had called the night before to let him know that he and Lois Lane had their plane tickets ready. Since Bruce Wayne had a reputation to uphold, he made sure to have Alfred drive him to the building ten minutes late.

From his own time, he knew Lois Lane fairly well, as the wife of one of his best friends. In this time, he had met her a few times; occasionally helping Clark to keep his secret identity, and occasionally flirting with her.

"Mr Wayne. Clark tells me you intend to volunteer to work for the Gazette," the dark-haired woman said, looking critically over Bruce's expensively clothed figure.

He plastered on a suitably vacant grin.

"That's right. I did study some journalism back in college, and I thought I could do something substantial, besides trying to keep the board of directors of our backs. I'm sure John Hall can find some menial task that needs to be done."

When Clark and Lois exchanged a look, he lifted his eyebrows and said, "What?"

"Hall was rushed off to the hospital just now – you just missed him," Clark explained. "He collapsed from over-work and couldn't speak."

Bruce was on the verge of grunting his dissatisfaction but caught himself in time.

"Oh dear. And this crime-exposé he was certain was going to save the paper…?"

"As far as we understand, he's the only one who knows what it's about," Clark replied.

"Gosh, that's too bad. And now the Gazette will need a temporary editor… In a hurry."

"You'd better contact your fellow directors," Lois put in.

"Oh, I will," Bruce replied.

He couldn't remember what the criminal case was about, except that it had something to do with tunneling since Robin had been taken prisoner while he was checking out construction companies.

Dick really had been taken hostage a lot, during his time as Robin… But not this time – the boy was safely back in the Manor. Batman had promised him that he could help research from the cave, to keep him from going out against orders. He had also locked the cave exit, without Dick's knowledge, and put a tracker on him, if the boy still got out somehow. He had learned long ago not to put complete faith in Dick's promises to stay away from where the action was.

But one thing he could recall from this case was that Lois Lane had been the one to take Hall's place. And it still made sense that neither Batman nor Superman should be chained to a desk.

"I'm going to call the chairman and propose that Miss Lane takes over, for the time being," he said. "Why don't we go into Hall's office, and I'll make the call."

One hour later, Bruce and Clark left the office, with Lois Lane's order to bring her back scoops if they wanted to keep their jobs ringing in their ears.

"She sure is trying to imitate Perry," Clark said with a smile crossing his face. "I checked Hall's desk with my X-ray vision, but he left no notes on the mystery-story. Except one phrase: The Mole who threatens Gotham city."

"Hmh. The Mole might be a nick-name, or it could have something to do with digging. I'll put Robin on looking for information while we're after the scoops Lois demands."

The reporters parted ways outside the newspaper building; Clark no doubt to change into his alter ego and fly away to perform some heroic stunt that Clark Kent could write about, Bruce thought surly while he walked up to where Alfred was waiting with the car.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said as soon as he'd sat down. "You'll be pleased to know that I am now officially a reporter in the service of the Gotham Gazette. I bet you never thought I could land a real job, did you?"

"Very good, sir. I trust the Gazette provide good medical insurance. You tend to need it, after all."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Alfred. I didn't say anything about getting paid… I'm sure Dick will earn more money in an honest occupation within the year of his moving out than I've ever done," he said, thinking about all the different jobs Dick had held for shorter or longer periods.

Perhaps he should be critical that the young man – in a future that seemed more and more unreal for each day – never had settled in one career. But Dick was flexible in a way that his mentor could never be, willing to move on and do whatever worked best in his current situation.

"I've never doubted that, sir. Although I do hope we will not see that for several more years."

"… You and me both, Alfred… Please drive to the new Riverside Park, while I call Dick and set him to work with the investigation. The park is opening in less than an hour. I'm sure the dedication ceremony will be a good story for the Gazette."

"… Of course, sir."

The call to Dick was short and to the point; the boy enthusiastically promised to search their files for information about anyone called The Mole and look into everything that was connected to digging in the Gotham area, and – slightly less eagerly – to eat the cold lunch that Alfred had prepared for him. Bruce spent the rest of the drive to Riverside Park thinking about the upcoming article; he knew it hadn't actually been about the dedication of the park, but he still needed to go there.

They were still several blocks away when the traffic slowed down, and the radio news reported a huge crowd in the park that was situated on the waterfront.

"A change of plans, Alfred. I'm afraid the police won't be able to handle the crowd and people might be pushed off the pier into the water. Turn right at the next crossing; I know a dead-end alley where Batman can sneak out and take to the roofs," Bruce instructed and grabbed the briefcase with the Batsuit.

There wasn't going to be a dedication ceremony to write about this time either, that much was certain, Batman mused when he later stood on one of the skyscrapers that overlooked the new park. Fortunately, an article about Batman doing acrobatics to draw the crowd from the park so that the police could handle the situation would do even better. At least, that's what had happened the first time he had been in this situation, even if the crowd had been treated to see both Batman and Robin perform at that time.

It was almost two hours later when Bruce Wayne returned to the editor's office. Clark was already there, and Lois turned to the newcomer with a sharp look.

"Clark got a good scoop on that arctic ship's miraculous escape… What's your story?"

Bruce had his reply all thought out – he must keep up his playboy pose, after all.

"I planned a big story on the park dedication ceremony, but it was called off because the oversized crowd was a danger. Batman was there…"

Right on cue, Lois leaned forward over the desk and interrupted him.

"Then you did get a scoop – a bigger one than Clark's! Batman is redhot news here in Gotham city!"

"Uhm. I thought… Did I? Thank you, chief… Guess I'll go have my afternoon tea, now. See you later, Clark!"

Bruce nodded pleasantly, caught Clark's eye and left the room while Lois grumbled about "Tea! Hmpf… What a reporter!" behind his back.

As he had expected, Clark had picked up on that he wanted for them to talk in private, and Superman flew into the Batcave soon after Bruce had changed to Batman.

"Have you got a lead on the menace?" Superman said as he landed.

"I was just asking Dick myself," Batman replied.

The two senior crimefighters looked expectantly at the boy who was seated by the Batcomputer.

"I've found a clue in our files," Dick reported. "The Mole is the nickname of a crook who tunnelled out of prison. He hasn't been caught since, and he was an expert miner and tunneller."

"It's a solid lead," said Batman with a nod.

He knew that it fitted perfectly with what he remembered – but he couldn't very well say so.

"I've been looking into mining and tunnelling projects around Gotham," Dick continued. "There is no record of The Mole working with any of them, but that was to be expected – he won't use his real name. But there are only three projects going on close to something that might be worth robbing."

Batman's eyebrows lifted in surprise; the first time they had been in this situation, he had ordered Robin to check up on all the projects in person, which had resulted in the boy being captured when he found The Mole. How many times had he endangered his ward needlessly, by putting footwork before thorough intelligence gathering?

"Great work, Robin," Superman praised. "Let me check up on them and see if I can spot anything incriminating before we plan our next step."

A hasty rush of wind and Batman and Dick were alone. The boy looked at his guardian with a small frown.

"What, Batman?"

"Hmh?"

"You looked… surprised. Are you? Surprised that I could do the detective work on my own?" Dick asked, with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"… Of course not, Dick! I'm glad if we can solve John Hall's mystery quickly. The Gazette needs a big scoop to survive, and I'm not cut out for the reporter work."

Dick continued to study him – looking for signs of that he wasn't telling the truth, no doubt. Batman took a step closer and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Listen, Dick. I know – without the shadow of a doubt – that the day when Batman needs an understudy to step up, you will do a fantastic job. But for now, let's exercise those detective skills until Superman returns and try to guess which project is likely to be a cover for The Mole, shall we?"

Less than half an hour later, Superman was indeed back in the Batcave to report that he had spotted The Mole and a dozen men working on a tunnel that was on the verge of reaching the Gotham Bank.

"They've built secret 'storm-sewer' tunnels to another bank too, for easy robbery. What do you want us to do, Batman?"

He had to admit, it was rather nice, working together with Clark on simple, street-level crimes. Too bad he couldn't say it out loud – Dick would have enjoyed making some pun about underground-level…

In his own time, it had been a long time since the two of them shared a case with ordinary crooks. The world had become more complicated, and Batman and Superman were far too often tied up in handling threats a global level.

He suddenly remembered what Tim had told him, about when he had asked Dick to become Robin again because 'Batman needs a Robin'". Dick had answered that he couldn't become Robin again; he couldn't go back to being a kid.

He had grunted in reply to Tim's story, of course, but he had felt pride swelling in his chest over how Dick lived in the present and looked forward, not back. That was certainly one thing that the boy had refused to emulate in his mentor and guardian, Bruce thought.

And here he was, suddenly feeling very comfortable in his own past…

Superman's voice broke through his train of thought.

"Bruce? You all right?"

He shook himself from his reverie.

"Of course. If the men were working the tunnel, there is no reason for Superman and Batman not to confront them immediately. We should be able to deliver them to the police and write the story for the Gazette well in time for the morning edition – and then Bruce Wayne can go back to his playboy habits. Let's go, Clark."

* * *

 _This chapter was inspired by "The Super-Newspaper of Gotham City." By Edmond Hamilton, art Dick Sprang and Charles Paris. In World's Finest Comics # 80._

 _Dick says to Tim that he can't go back to being Robin in New Titans # 61 and Batman # 441._

 _And if you thought that Batman and Superman first met on a boat, you're not altogether right. Read about the first ever team-up (and lots of other fascinating stuff…) on my Tumblr._

 _See/read more at_

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	28. Chapter 28

No sooner had Batman stepped out of the car, when he several hours later returned to the cave, than a sudden draught tugged at his cape and Superman landed beside him.

"Your article should give the circulation a nice boost, Bruce," Superman said and flashed a smile. "Lois was quite impressed that you managed to get a few comments straight out of the mouth of the Dark Knight himself, in such a short time. He's not known to be talkative to the press, from what I've heard."

Batman grunted as he walked away from the vehicle. Truth be told, he had felt rather silly, pretending he had interviewed himself like Clark did all the time. On the other hand, it was pretty tame compared to some of the stunts he pulled as playboy Brucie Wayne…

"Too bad you've already handed in your resignation," Superman continued.

"Hnh. We've stopped the crime and given the Gazette another chance. The case is closed, as far as I'm concerned."

"Sure, but it was kind of nice, working together as civilians."

Batman grunted in agreement as he removed his cowl and gauntlets. He gave Superman a sideways glance.

"Alfred should be well on his way with dinner if you care to stay."

Since Lois was in town, he half expected the man to decline the offer. But Superman only considered a moment before he answered with an easy grin.

"Alfred's food and your and Dick's company? Count me in, Bruce."

Batman didn't even have time to blink before Superman's imposing figure had been replaced with Clark Kent in a slightly dishevelled costume.

"I'll go up and see if Alfred needs a hand with something. He can't be prepared for a guest for dinner, after all."

Bruce stared after Clark's disappearing figure with a small frown. There was something going on…

It only took him a few seconds to reach the logical conclusion – Clark wanted a chance to talk with Alfred alone. Which could spell trouble.

Well, it was a good thing he had upgraded the security in Wayne Manor since his arrival back in time, by installing surveillance equipment in strategical positions. Such as the kitchen. And pretty much all the rooms in use.

He really had been naive, back in the days, to leave the Manor practically unprotected, Bruce thought as he went further into the cave to where Dick was training on the uneven bars. And there was still the question of putting up more motion sensors around the place.

"Dick. It's time for you to go up and change and get ready for dinner. Clark will be staying for dinner," he tempted.

As predicted, this was enough to get the boy quickly jump down on the floor. Dick picked up his towel and water flask and started for the shower, but stopped when Batman turned the other way to go back to the Batcomputer.

"Aren't you coming, Bruce?"

"I need to finish a few things. I will be up presently."

Dick shrugged and headed for the changing room; hanging out with Superman was high enough on his list to make him ignore his guardian's obsessive behaviour for a while.

While the sound of Dick's steps faded, Bruce sat down by the computer and brought up the camera feeds from the rooms and corridors on the ground floor. He might not have time to listen in to everything that Clark had to say, but he needed to be prepared if something came up during dinner. And everything the cameras and microphones picked up was saved for a while if he wanted to look into it more thoroughly.

The computer screen filled up with several small pictures of video feeds; he eliminated them one by one until the feed from the camera hidden over the kitchen door was the only one remaining, and the grainy picture filled the screen. Clark was already in there, sitting at the table in front of the window, while Alfred was coming in and out of the picture while he was working. He had probably offered to help and been turned down, if Bruce knew the two men.

At least his timing was perfect – Clark had evidently just started talking.

"…refuses to talk to me. You must have noticed it too? And I can tell from Dick's behaviour that he thinks there's something up with Bruce, too."

Bruce couldn't help his pulse from rising, even if he had expected this. This could end badly – Alfred and Clark knew him better than anyone, in this time. Not that they really had a chance to guess the truth – who in their right mind would believe that someone all of a sudden had the mind and memories of his future self – but things could get complicated if they ever went from words to action.

The loudspeaker from the kitchen feed was silent; Alfred hesitated to answer. He would not feel comfortable discussing his employer and surrogate son with someone outside the family; Bruce knew that. But the man was also pragmatic enough to acknowledge when there was a problem and to take help or form alliances to overcome it.

"Do you know anything about it? Or at least, do you know enough to tell me I shouldn't worry?" Clark pressed.

Alfred finally spoke, hesitantly.

"Do you have any reason to suspect that Master Bruce is a danger to himself or Master Richard, sir?"

Clark stared over the room with furrowed forehead; almost straight at the camera, in fact. Clark Kent in his own time would have checked the room for surveillance equipment because he knew that Bruce had them everywhere, but this Clark wouldn't suspect Batman to bug his own family.

"No, when you put it like that… But he talks differently, he grunts more than he's ever done, and Dick is already picking up that particular habit. Imagine if he hands it down to the rest of the kids… The next generation of the Justice League will communicate with one-syllable words, at best."

Clark shook his head, but his lips twitched in a small smile before he continued.

"And he keeps the cards closer to his chest – I had to force him to admit to trying out some kind of surveillance equipment in the League headquarter."

Clark fell silent for a while and glanced in Alfred's direction, probably looking for a sign of agreement or dissent. Bruce couldn't see if and how Alfred reacted, but Clark resumed talking.

"When we took on The Mole and his gang, his fighting style was slightly different from what I'm used to. He was more… explosive, I suppose you could say. With shorter and quicker movements. And he used a few new moves; a type of pushkick and a hipthrow I've never seen before. I guess he could have learned new techniques since the last time we worked together in the field… But from what I've picked up on the Gotham news, he's been unusually violent at least twice. Don't get me wrong – I don't think he'd ever be violent to Dick. Quite the contrary; it seems to me he uses excessive force when Dick is in danger."

Batman felt something twist in his gut. He wished Clark was right about that – at this time, he had been right, he would never have used violence towards his young ward. But less than ten years from now, he would – no, had, not would, not this time – strike Dick down with a powerful punch.

In his memory, he could still see the young man's head jerk from the hit and his body fall to the ground – the hurt and shock when he looked up at his guardian.

And that wasn't even the last time he had hit his boy...

Alfred had walked into the picture again and was now standing by the stove, slowly stirring something in a pot.

"I have noticed Master Bruce's new speech pattern. And Master Dick has been upset with him several times lately; but the lad is soon a teenager, after all. It is a time of transition and growing autonomy. They are very alike in their stubbornness; I fear Master Dick's maturation will be a difficult time in this house."

It was evident to Bruce that Alfred was trying to convince himself, rather than Clark. When the butler commented on his behaviour to Bruce's face, the underlying criticism had been evident.

"So you're telling me there is nothing to worry about?"

"Master Bruce has changed the way he works. He spends more time with his computer, looking for information and planning. Since it is beneficial for him to be better prepared when he goes out and makes him a more efficient crime fighter and, one might hope, helps him and the young Master to stay safe, I do not consider this a problem… Even if the change has come rather suddenly."

Clark shrugged.

"Well, it's Bruce, all right. I've used my x-ray vision to confirm that it's not a body double, or something, Unless body doubles come with exactly the same scars as their counterparts, of course."

"… Indeed…"

"Uhm. Just the scars I know about from when we've changed at the same time, of course… On his torso and arms…"

"Quite."

Alfred disappeared from the picture again, and Bruce could hear the sound of him opening one of the cupboards. Clark started to rise from the table, looking after the butler.

"Alfred, at least let me set the table? Please?"

"… Very well, sir. But I suppose I need not remind you that we do not use powers in the house?"

"Not to worry, Alfred," Clark chuckled. "I might not be a train-aholic in Bruce's class, but I think I can carry some plates and glasses all the way to the dinner table."

Batman considered whether he had seen enough for the time being; he could check the recording later, after all. But when he heard the sound of Dick walking up the staircase, he decided to stay a little longer and see if Dick was drawn into the discussion.

Clark returned to the kitchen only moments before Dick rushed in, obviously eager to spend some quality time with… one of his favourite superheroes.

"Smells great, Alfie! Bruce was still by the computer; I hope he won't miss dinner."

Clark seemed intent on not dropping the subject. He turned towards Dick with raised eyebrows.

"Bruce spends a lot of time on the computer, nowadays, Alfred tells me."

"He sure does," Dick agreed. "It's the new love of his life. But I guess it pays off because he finds out a lot that way. He must have hacked some new source of information because he's always telling me you can only get out of the computer what you put into it with hard work."

"What's he used it for, lately?"

Dick went over to the stove and took a sniff over the pot before he answered.

"A few weeks ago, he found out that the Gotham lighthouse was the headquarter for a gang of robbers in less than an hour. And when I asked how he knew that Mortimer Drake was The Cavalier and that the Penguin was going to rob the Pinchbeck penthouse, he said he had the Batcomputer to thank for that. I've been using it more too, and it really can be a great help. Do you want me to do something, Alfred?"

"Master Kent has already set the table, but thank you, Richard."

"Mhm. Tell me about tomorrow's Gazette, Clark?"

"Oh, Bruce wrote the piece. Lois was quite impressed, you know. He even found time to get a few comments from The Batman about the bust."

The boy laughed.

"Well, everyone knows that the Bat and Bruce Wayne are really close friends…"

Dick had his back to the camera, but Bruce would wager anything that the boy had winked. Clark answered with a quick, almost automatic smile.

"He used some pretty impressive moves, today. Do you know if Bruce is studying for someone new?"

"Not that I know. But you know Bruce – he's obsessive with improving. Perhaps he's found some new ideas online? You can find anything if you know where to look…"

"Uhm. Dick… You don't look… on anything, do you?"

"Hm? What… oh. Ouch! Only in the line of duty, Uncle Clark!"

Bruce shut down the window from the video feed; it seemed that Clark didn't want to worry Dick by talking outright about his misgivings, something that Bruce was grateful for. It the three of them joined forces, he would get a hard time. Not to mention his dinner would probably have been ruined by an extensive interrogation.

Talking about dinner… He still had to shower and change, and he could tell that dinner was almost ready. Alfred would be disappointed in him, Bruce thought with a small sigh, coming late to the dinner table when he had invited a guest.

* * *

"Master Bruce. Impeccable timing, I was just about to call and ask if you intended to join your guest for dinner. I told them to start while the food was hot," said Alfred when he hurried into the dining room, where Dick and Clark were already seated at the large table, in front of each other.

"Sorry I'm in late, Alfred. I just had some finishing up to do."

"One might almost think that you knew exactly when the food was ready to put on the table."

Alfred was going to find the security camera in the kitchen any day, Bruce thought resignedly. If he hadn't already done so… Still, he had never intended to keep it a secret. It was meant as a security measure, after all, not to spy on his family.

He sat down at his usual place, at the head of the table, picked up the knife and fork and tucked in.

He had hoped that eating, and the presence of Dick, would be in the way of awkward questions, and it turned out his wish was fulfilled. The boy's curiosity about Bruce as a journalist kept them occupied throughout most of the meal.

Of course, Clark had already spoken his mind the day before; the question was whether he intended to try and pick up the conversation on the way out. Bruce mentally prepared himself to dodge a new set of questions when he walked his guest down to the Batcave, but to his relief, Clark opted to talk about how to follow up on the story for the Gazette to keep the circulation up.

Bruce was under no illusion that Superman was going to drop the subject forever, but perhaps he didn't want to tip his hand that he had spoken to Alfred just yet. And the man was a reporter through and through, after all; he would probably look for corroborating evidence from several sources before he raised the question a second time. After all, Alfred hadn't, while Bruce was listening, really said anything to fuel Superman's unease.

"Well, Bruce, as always, it's been a pleasure," said Superman as he prepared to leave the cave. "I'll see you soon, I hope? At the next League meeting, perhaps?"

Bruce had to fight a reflex to clench his jaws.

"I'll do my best to be there. Unless I am needed in Gotham," he answered, silently hoping for a moderately serious emergency.

Not an Arkham breakout. But a crime, puzzling enough for the police to ask for his help, would make an excellent excuse. The Justice League came with its own set of challenges for someone wanting to keep a secret, after all. Martian Manhunter's telepathy and Wonder Woman's magic lasso could both expose him.

Still, he had kept secrets from the League before. He could do it again if he had to.

With a final goodbye, Superman disappeared in his customary blast of air and Bruce felt as if he could relax for the first time in hours.

He certainly was not going to invite the man over for dinner and give him a chance to confer with Alfred, and perhaps even Dick, again in a hurry, he promised himself as he walked over to the computer.

* * *

 _So, not that I expect anyone to sit on needles if this fic isn't updated regularly every weekend or anything ;-) but I thought I'd give you a thumbs-up that it will take a while before the next chapter is up._

 _I've decided it's not dark and gritty and angsty enough for a DC fanfic, so I'm going to change direction, just like the owner company does every once in a while; make Bruce forget he's from the future so when he by pure chance sees Tim and his parents murdered he'll just feel a strange emptiness he can't explain; kill off or at least severely maim Alfred; perhaps make Dick a murderer..._

 _Just kidding. I am, however, travelling for a few weeks over the winter holiday; the next update can be expected mid-January._

 _Dick growing up was a difficult process. Alfred comments on it in Nightwing # 53. And Bruce in Batman # 615 (Hush). And there is that time in "Knightfall: Prodigal", of course._

 _The infamous fight where Bruce punches Dick and tells him to leave the key with Alfred is in New Titans # 55 (surely one of Bruce's most asshole stunts ever), and you can find a couple of panels on my Tumblr. (by Marv Wolfman and George Pérez, art George Pérez and Romeo Tanghal)._

 _See/read more at_

 _tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	29. Chapter 29

"So – when are you going to let me go out as Robin again?"

"If I were to give you a goal, for instance when you can complete the training course in 180 seconds, you're only going to make yourself sick, overworking yourself to reach it."

"… Am not…"

Batman smirked slightly at the boy's pout and continued.

"When I decide you're fully healed and fit. But until then, to prevent you from destroying every chandelier in the manor, you can come with me on a trial run with the improved Batboat."

"Hey! It was one chandelier – when I was a kid. When are you going to stop pushing that down my throat?"

Batman couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"All right, chum. Suit up and meet me by the boat."

The duo had a relaxing boat trip away from the urban area of Gotham. Sometimes Batman would demonstrate or point out a new feature of the boat, such as the increased speed or the launching grapnel that doubled as an anchor. It was still a far cry from the Batboat of his time, but a significant improvement. But mostly they enjoyed the fresh air, the sunlit reflexes on the sea, and the company.

With hindsight, Batman should have known it couldn't last. But he didn't even feel a hint of worry when Robin rested his arms on the side of the boat and stared intently over the water.

"Do you see those strange ripples in the water, Batman? It looks too fast and large to be a fish – if I believed in sea monsters, I would say Gotham has its very own."

Robin leaned further over the side.

"What would be a good name for a Gotham sea monster, you think? Goth-ssie…Gossie… doesn't really work. I know – Gothzilla!"

Batman turned to look, and only when he saw the dull glimmer of metal and that it came straight at the Batboat did he feel the first tendril of unease.

He increased the speed and turned the boat towards the island that they were passing. Hopefully, whatever it was wouldn't follow them into shallow water, and they could figure it out from the relative safety of the beach.

His anxiety grew when whatever it was turned after them, and it was evident that the Batboat didn't gain any distance.

"Robin, sit back," he barked, preparing to try to outmanoeuvre their pursuer and worried that the boy might fall overboard. To his relief, the boy immediately complied, and he started steering the speedboat in irregular serpentines, trying to leave the thank that flashed through the water behind.

Robin had taken up position in the middle of the boat, fixing the follower with his eyes; suddenly he exclaimed in a shrill voice:

"It's coming up!"

Right on cue, the surface was broken by a massive metallic object, more like a robot killer whale than anything else. Batman managed to jerk the boat away from a gap full of sharp, manmade teeth in the last moment and steered straight against the island.

Of all the blasted, unlucky coincidences. They had come upon the island of George Milo – dubbed the Island of a 1000 traps, once the media had got wind of the place. He and Robin had gone there when they picked up information that Milo, one of the nation's top criminals, had bought the island under another name to live there, believing that it would be a haven for him.

Batman couldn't recall precisely when it had happened, but he thought it had been later; perhaps even in the early autumn.

To think that he had intended to take the boy on the equivalent of a trip to the beach, to cure the worst of his antsiness. And ended up on an island packed with deadly traps. If Bruce had been a theatrical kind of man, he would have torn his hair; and dunked his head against the nearest solid surface, for good measure.

He and Robin had had several narrow escapes, his first time there; and he wasn't even sure he knew of all the traps that Milo had put up to keep unwanted company from landing on the island. Still, since he remembered that the robot killer whale had cracked the Batboat in one bite as it was guarding the shore on his first visit, landing on the island with the boat intact meant they were doing better this time… He drove the Batboat straight up on the beach.

Luckily, it was an even and sandy beach, just the kind you took your family to for a restful day; there would be no problem getting the boat off the island once they had incapacitated the mechanical sea monster.

Of course, to do that they needed to get past a number of hidden traps and reach the control centre in the middle of the island. Batman straightened up from his tense, crouched position and willed himself to unclench his teeth. He could already feel a tension headache coming up.

From what he remembered, there was an electrical trap between two trees, an outside trapdoor leading down to a watery grave with a giant octopus, a giant remote-controlled crossbow and a tank with a giant iron fist hand – that one had actually nocked the boy out.

He looked Robin over with a critical eye. The knife wound should be healed enough that he didn't really fear that it would reopen, but from experience, he knew that it would still hurt. He couldn't rely on his partner being his usual graceful self.

"How are you feeling, Robin?"

"I'm fine!"

George Milo was probably sitting in the control centre, ready to activate trap after trap as Robin and he progressed over the island, and to send his henchmen after them. When they had come in his time, there had only been about half a dozen men; he had no idea how many might be on the island right now. However, Milo had equipped the island with mechanics to keep safe; there was a fair chance that he did not have a lot of men on hand as well, but it wouldn't do to rely on guesswork.

"You have to tell me straight away if you're not up to something, chum. It could be fatal if I believe you're more fit than you are."

"You sound as if you think there will be more mechanical menaces on the island."

Time for improvisation, Batman thought.

"I have a hunch that we have stumbled upon the hiding place of George Milo. He will not have spared any expenses to keep unwanted visitors away. You need to be on your guard, every second."

"Gosh, Batman – Milo. What makes you think that?"

"… I've heard whispers in the underground that he's been preparing a new kind of headquarter. This could fit the bill nicely…"

"You never mentioned that."

"… I prefer to give you information that I know is relevant; not necessarily all the rumours I come across."

Robin turned his head slowly towards Batman, eyebrows raised.

"Is that where you've picked up everything you seem to know straight out of the air, lately? Rumours…?"

It wasn't often Batman cursed that he had let his mouth run away with him, but he could definitely have phrased that better, he conceded to himself. He mustn't give Robin the impression that rumours were a reliable source of information.

"You should never trust a rumour, Robin. That being said, you should always check if there could be any ground for it – especially if you hear it more than once."

"That's basic, Batman."

"… Good."

Batman decided to drop the subject, hoping that Robin would do the same, and scrutinised the island before them. There were trees to climbs and rocks to use as pommel horses – just the kind of environment that would incite Robin to forget about being on guard for a second to make a few leaps, just for the fun of it. At least he had an idea of where the control centre was. If he tried to lead the way between the traps he remembered, hopefully, there would be a minimum of surprises.

"We need to look for a control centre, where we can incapacitate the mechanical sea monster. Stay behind me, and don't touch anything," he ordered and started walking inland.

Robin huffed but fell into steps behind him.

Batman tried to remember exactly where the traps were, but it had been a long time ago. The first one had been an electrical trap between to trees, but there were too many possibilities for the location.

"Look carefully on how any animals you see behave," he instructed the boy.

"What do you mean?"

"Animals that live on the island will have learned to avoid traps. If you can see tracks from animals or people on the ground, that means it is probably safe to go there. And if the animals avoid something, we should follow their lead."

The boy cocked his head, considering the advice, and made a hum of agreement.

They took it slowly, and never triggered the electrical trap he had remembered. When they spotted the small village with derelict houses, Batman opted to keep a distance and keep well away from even ground where the tank with the colossal iron fist might be a danger. When Robin suggested that the control centre that they were looking for might be in one of the houses, Batman argued that the houses were too small and that George Milo would want a grander environment than a shack.

Fifteen minutes later, Batman's keen eyes spotted the outlines of the water trap they had fallen in the last time, and they could give that a wide berth. Before long, they came out of the forest and were met by a small hill with an original construction on top.

"A deserted ship – on land!" Robin exclaimed.

"I recall it once belonged to a retired sea captain who moved it here for his home."

"Perhaps Milo is hiding in there?"

The way Batman remembered, a number of Milo's henchmen had been on the ship when they went there to climb the crow's nest for a better view. He glanced at Robin, who still seemed to move unhindered; but truth be told, so far trip hadn't been taxing. A fight with several men would be another story.

But then, sooner or later they would have to face whatever company that Milo was keeping.

Perhaps the stranded ship was as good as place as any, Batman thought, and subtly checked that the sleeping gas pellets were where they should be in the utility belt.

"I think it's too small for his tastes, but I want to climb it to check the terrain ahead."

They headed for the ship and Batman looked carefully after footsteps on the ground on the way. He could see tracks of at least four different soles, even if he couldn't tell how long it had been since they had been made. Around the ladder that was perched on the side of the boat, he spotted two more pairs; there might be quite the welcoming party up there.

No sooner had the duo set foot on deck, than the cabin door burst open and a group of men ran out. One, two, three… seven. Several more than the last time, and enough that Batman couldn't be sure on coming out on top, especially not with Robin hurting. Time to be sensible.

"Robin, gas mask," he ordered as he removed several items from his utility belt: pellets filled with sleeping gas, a smoke bomb and his own mask.

With seven men and the gas out in the open, they wouldn't all be incapacitated. But some of them would at least be affected by the sleeping gas, and the smoke would confuse others, thus making them easier for the crimefighters to take out.

He threw the pellets straight at the group of men; when they broke and spewed a heavy, yellowish plume of smoke blended with the dark fog from the smoke bomb, the men started to scatter. Two of them were on their knees in a matter of seconds, and another two were clearly affected. A satisfactory result, Batman decided; he shot a quick glance to check that Robin had his rebreather on and then turned to fight the men, starting with the ones that had avoided the gas.

He could hear Robin's step as he followed into the fray and from the corner of his eyes, he saw the boy take a leap, swing around the boom and strike down one of the men who was affected but still standing. While Batman exchanged punches with the men that had escaped the gas, Robin took down his second victim with a series of kick and then waited for Batman to defeat the last two of Milo's men.

When Batman came up to him Robin, bless him, almost pouted at how easy it had been.

"Why did you use the gas, Batman? We could have handled it…"

"Hm."

The boy crossed his arms, frowned and huffed in annoyance. Batman chose to ignore him – this wasn't a discussion he wanted to have in front of a group of men who would not hesitate to spread anything they could pick up on the Dynamic Duo. He started to tie up them in silence, and soon Robin took his line and did the same.

When they had finished, Batman climbed up to the crow's nest to look around. Almost directly, he spotted their goal; a massive castle-like stone building, less than half an hour's walk away.

"Did those rumours you picked up include ways into that fortress? Once we've passed the giant crossbow that's guarding the entrance?" Robin asked pointedly, once they stood in front of the solid building. A crossbow, twice as high as Batman, mounted on wheels and with a radio receiver on top, blocked their path to the solid oak gateway.

"I think I can solve that on my own, Robin," Batman replied. "Get down on the ground and crawl after me."

Robin looked at Batman, then at the crossbow and back to Batman again, with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. Then he nodded shortly, more to himself than for the benefit of his mentor, and got down.

Batman started moving over the ground on his arms and knees.

"Slowly, Robin. The bow will turn in our direction, but it won't be triggered until we stand up and become targets."

"Got you."

They worked their way around the giant bow and to the locked gateway. Batman made sure that they were right in front of the door and glanced at Robin.

"We're going to stand up to make the crossbow fire and open the doors for us. We need to be quick about it – can you make it?"

"Of course."

"… You know I only ask because I want you safe, Robin. I can trigger it on my own. Are you positive your injury won't be a problem?"

"Yes! And I'm faster than you, so perhaps you should be the one to stay down. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you…"

"Not till I'm old and grey, Robin… Keep a yard away from me when you stand up. On the count of three. One; two; three!"

They stood up, looking guardedly on the crossbow that was pointing straight at them, twitching between the duo as to decide which one to target. With the snap of a lever, the arrow flew, and Batman threw himself down, one arm outstretched to bring Robin with him, but there was nothing but air for him to grip. As Robin had promised, he was the faster one.

The arrow cracked the gateway ajar with a dull thud; it would be a tight squeeze, but it would work, Batman decided once he had looked it over. He nudged Robin to get inside and kept a wary eye on the crossbow that reloaded automatically and held its position.

A few seconds later both of them were standing inside, looking over a huge central hall with galleries all around one floor up. Batman put a hand on Robin's shoulder to steer the boy away from the gateway but kept close to the wall.

The last time, Milo's last companion had been waiting for them with a rifle on one of the galleries. But he had no way of knowing how many men – if any – might be with the gangster inside the fort this day.

Robin looked expectantly at him, waiting for orders. Batman looked around, straining his hearing to pick up any sign of life. At first, he heard nothing. But after a minute, there was a faint sound of a creaking door. From the way Robin's head whipped around, he could tell that the boy too had heard it.

He kept his hand on the boy's shoulder and concentrated on listening. Two men, trying to walk softly over the stone floor on the gallery upstairs. They could use their batarang lines to get up there and confront the men, but it would be risky if they were armed and ready. On the other hand, the only other way up was the grand staircase; if they took that, they would be instantly visible and easy targets. And Milo's men had no reason to descend to the ground floor. They could wait upstairs.

Batman looked around with narrowing eyes. It didn't make any sense only to have one staircase to the upper floor… There should at least be one or two smaller stairs, he thought, scanning the building. And there, in the far corner, he could see a shadow that was probably a small utilitarian stair.

He bent down to speak in Robin's ear.

"There's a stair in the corner over there. Keep close to the wall, go there and climb it. If you don't meet anyone on the way, stay hidden until I draw them out, and then you attack. Got it?"

Robin frowned but nodded.

"Be careful, Batman," the boy whispered.

Batman gave him a short nod and what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and pushed Robin lightly towards the corner. While his young protégé moved silently towards the stair, he continued to listen after the two men. As far as he could make out, they were standing still on the gallery, waiting to get the two intruders in the line of fire.

Robin would be hidden from them all the way, but he himself had to get up quickly to surprise them. It would have been so much easier if he had had his modern, lightweight but very efficient grapple hook gun.

He kept track of Robin's progress at the same time as he walked over to stand exactly under the two guards. When he was quite certain that the boy had reached the gallery upstairs, he steeled himself; time to get ready. Batman wanted to come up as straight on the men as possible, to give them less time to react, and he moved until he was in the right position. After a deep breath, he ran forwards, leapt up and grabbed the edge of the gallery floor, letting his body swing as fast as possible and flew over the parapet.

Before he even landed, Batman knew that he had miscalculated the position of the men with two yards. But he didn't linger on the thought but rushed to the closest man and knocked him down with a hook punch.

A quick turn towards the second man and he was staring right into the barrel of a gun too far away; the man would have time to press the trigger. Batman threw himself forward on his hands for a low handspring, aiming to go under the line of fire.

Mid-leap, he heard a shout of pain and the clank of a handgun falling on stone, but he continued his roll and came up with a powerful uppercut. The man fell to the ground, his right hand sliced with Robin's batarang.

The boy rushed up to him, wide-eyed and worried.

"Gosh, Batman, that was too close!"

Batman straightened, took a breath and let it out; it had indeed been close.

"Good job, Robin. Keep an eye out while I tie them up."

A few minutes later, Batman moved to open the last door with a feeling of relief mixed with apprehension; the previous time, Milo had played his last card by now. But he did not intend to let his guard down until the gangster was behind lock and key. He signalled to Robin to move to the other side of the door, outside the line of fire if anything was going to happen.

He threw open the door and was inside in the blink of an eye, scanning the room and with a batarang ready to throw. But the only person inside the room was the middle-aged mob boss, seated in front of a giant computer screen. Milo flinched at the vigilantes' intrusion, rose from his chair and made a gesture as if protecting his head.

"Y-you win. I give up! Don't hit me!"

"I don't intend to touch you," Batman growled.

Robin appeared in the door and added, "We'll let the law slap you – with a long prison sentence."

Milo backed away further, and Batman grunted impatiently; the man had made him and Robin spend hours avoiding lethal traps. If it hadn't been for his memories, it would have been an even more perilous trek. And now they would undoubtedly have to wait several more hours before the police could come and take over the responsibility.

He nailed the man with a glowering glance and said, "Sit! Robin, tie him up. I will contact the police."

* * *

 _The funny thing about travelling on your vacation is that you actually have less time to sit down and write than an ordinary working week. Who could have guessed... But finally, I've made enough progress to have a chapter ready for publishing._

 _Based on "The Island of 1000 traps", by Bill Finger. Art Sheldon Moldoff and Charles Paris. In Batman # 139._

 _It was recently established in canon that Dick has, indeed, once broken a chandelier (Batman # 54, by Tom King). I don't much care for what DC is up to at the moment, but I enjoyed that…_

 _The line "Not till I'm old and grey. (And maybe not then, either)" I pinched from Legends of the Dark Knight # 149, "Grimm". It's a pretty cute story, although I'm not mad about the art._

 _And I'm sure that the time-displaced Batman really misses the grapple hook gun he used it the recent Batman # 57. Small enough to fit in his utility belt._

 _As per usual, you will find some illustrated footnotes on:_

 _tumblr com / blog /_ northoftheroad


	30. Chapter 30

Bruce stared pensively out over the darkness surrounding the Batcave. He had no pressing matter to attend to, besides putting in an appearance at Wayne Enterprises. Which meant that he could take some time to think about how he could help his other – former but not future – protégés.

Barbara was not in any immediate danger and Tim was safe enough, even if his parents needed a reminder to take a bigger interest in their child. But Jason and Cass would be living under less than ideal circumstances.

Truth be told, he had no idea where to find David Cain at this time. If he had been in his old time, with the modern Batcomputer, he could have put that to work and probably found the man quickly enough. Here and now, he suspected he would have to do most of the work manually. Still, no reason not to make an attempt, Bruce thought and decided to spend some time later in the day writing a program for a full computer search about David Cain.

Meanwhile, he had a very good idea where to find Jason. If the boy that Dick met at the Free Clinic had indeed been Jason Todd, he was living with his mother somewhere around Crime Alley.

The best way to help Jason would be to get the boy's mother on her feet – a task that was easier said than done. If Catherine Todd was a drug addict, it wasn't as simple as making sure that she got the offer of a suitable job or even checking her into a rehabilitation clinic. She needed to be prepared to make an effort to break her addiction, and he did not know enough about the woman to guess if she was up to the task. Anyway, it would take time to get results – and too much could happen to Jason in that time.

Unless the boy went into foster care, of course. Bruce Wayne should be able to pull enough strings to ascertain that he was placed in a good home, but that was not what he wanted for Jason. The second Robin still had a parent in his life, and Bruce intended to do everything in his power to keep her there. Foster care, even for a shorter period, should be a last resort.

But if he couldn't buy Jason a stable home environment, he could at least use the Wayne money to do something about the boy's living quarters, Bruce pondered while he searched for Catherine Todd in the Gotham City registry.

Bingo. There she was, listed as a resident in Travis Street, a narrow street that crossed Crime Alley and the Bowery. He would be surprised if the building weren't in a pitiful condition, like most of the apartment buildings in the area.

Which would be a convenient opening for Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist. He could buy the house with the intention of renovating and offer all the residents replacement flats while the work was done. And he would make certain that Catherine and Jason got a place in a nice neighbourhood, somewhere close to a good school.

That would at least be a start. He could think about a scholarship for Jason later; it would be simpler to find an excuse once the boy was established in the school. That Jason would jump at the chance of a good education, he did not doubt.

After putting in a few hours at Wayne Enterprises, he would take a trip to Travis Street and find the building, Bruce decided. He memorised the address before he went upstairs to get ready to play the part of Bruce Wayne, the playboy who intended to take a greater interest in the company that bore his family name.

He had set up a few meetings during the day, and when he returned to his office from one of them, he noticed that he had two missed calls from Dick on his mobile. The boy did not answer when he called back, but Bruce thought little of it; surely, Dick or Alfred would call again if it was anything urgent.

Soon afterwards, he was ready to clear out of the office for the day – best not to overdo his new found interest in the family firm, after all – and look for the place where Catherine and Jason were living.

He had just shrugged on his jacket when someone knocked on the door. After his answering "Come in", Lucius Fox, his right-hand man at Wayne Enterprises, looked inside.

"On your way, Bruce?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you to think I'm after your job..."

The man chuckled.

"I guess there is plenty to do for both of us if it would come to that."

Bruce glanced in the mirror while he straightened his tie.

"What can I do for you, Lucius? Have I forgotten to sign any particular paper? I've been working my way through the stacks, but I suppose I might have gone in the wrong order somewhere."

"So you have. I haven't even had to nag you about it... And I heard you went to work for the Gazette a few days recently. It's enough to make one wonder where the real Bruce Wayne is hiding out," Lucius agreed with a good-natured grin. "But I can see you're on your way out and it's not really urgent. I just wanted to ask your opinion about the deal we're trying to make about steel production in Canada.

"Hm. I can't say that I have thought about it. I will have to get back to you on that one."

"You do that. I would need your input by the end of the week, though. Where are you heading?"

This time it was Bruce's turn to grin.

"Would you believe me if I said I was looking into the property market?"

"... I suppose I would since your company already owns a fair number of buildings. Anything in particular?"

"I would like to do something to improve living conditions in the Crime Alley area. I'm thinking of buying one or two buildings and fix them up."

Lucius Fox raised his eyebrows and gave him a long look.

"I didn't expect that, no," he said slowly. "It's not an easy road to travel, if you want to help the people who live there, as well you know. The rent always skyrockets when a building has been renovated, and poorer families will not be able to move back in."

He hadn't thought about that; Bruce had to admit to himself. He had been completely focused on finding a way to help Jason; he hadn't looked at the bigger picture.

"... I guess I will have to cross that bridge when I get there," he said, slowly.

"I know you mean well, Bruce. But not even you are rich enough to own all the apartment blocks in the poorer parts of Gotham and let them with subsidised rent."

"You're right, of course. But I like to think it over for a while longer. I was heading down to the area, have a look around, perhaps talk to Leslie Thompkins while I'm there."

"You do that. If anyone has some good ideas, I'm sure it will be Dr Thompkins. And get back to me about the Canadian deal as soon as you can."

"I will. Talk to you later, Lucius."

It was in a solemn mood that Bruce drove his car to Crime Alley. The place where his parents had been murdered – in essence, the birthplace of Batman – and today a neighbourhood where far too many people had very few opportunities to take control of their own lives.

Jason would not appreciate if Bruce somehow bought him a ticket out of the slum at the expense of other families. Still, Bruce Wayne was rich enough to renovate one building and keep the rents low for the foreseeable future. But he did need to think the whole thing through carefully before he did anything.

Bruce was determined to do something to help Jason; that was not negotiable. If this idea fell through, he would simply have to come up with something else, but he wasn't prepared to give it up just yet. If all went well, it could improve the lives for not only Jason but of dozens of families.

As he was driving through the Bowery, he considered where to park. The neighbourhood wasn't the safest place to leave a fancy car, after all; even if Jason was hardly old enough to try to steel the wheels just yet, Bruce thought with a wry smile.

He eventually parked in the street that separated Crime Alley from the Bowery, a few blocks away from Travis Street and the building that he had come to assess. It wasn't until he stepped out of the car that he realised that something was going on; the unmistakable sound of police car sirens could be heard from some blocks away, and the street was unusually empty. When he looked around, he spotted police cars blocking the road further towards the waterfront, just inside Robbinsville.

And here he was standing, without a spare Batsuit in his car... Bruce furrowed his brow and silently debated with himself for a few seconds, then he started jogging towards the commotion. It would take far too long to go to either Wayne Manor or Wayne Tower to get a suit, but he could at least satisfy his curiosity. If worst came to worst, he could even lend a hand as Bruce Wayne. It was fairly common knowledge that he was an accomplished sportsman, but too lazy to take anything really serious, after all.

When he came closer to the commotion, he could see that the police had put up barriers around several blocks and that there were ambulances mixed with the police cars. The centre of attention was a red brick building that housed several offices as well as flats and with shops at the ground level. Among the police officers that held vigil along the barrier, he spotted Jim Gordon.

Bruce slowed his pace – he didn't want to appear too eager to search out trouble, after all – and walked the last hundred yards, straightening his clothes on the way. Down here, the area was eerily calm. By all rights, there should be lively traffic on the roads and people crowding the pavements. Instead, besides the police and the paramedics, few people were outside, although he could see a fair amount of curious spectators peeking through their windows in the surrounding houses. Something was going on that was enough to scare even Gothamites away from the streets...

The building at the centre of attention seemed to be almost completely deserted. Only shadows inside a handful of windows on the sixth floor showed that there was any life inside.

When he came close enough, he made his presence known to Gordon as loudly as possible. It wouldn't do to let anyone think that Bruce Wayne could sneak up on the police commissioner, after all.

"Jim! Hello, Jim! What's going on?"

Gordon turned and frowned a bit when he saw who was coming up. Fair enough, the commissioner couldn't be expected to greet a civilian friend with enthusiasm when something serious was obviously going down.

However, the man greeted him with a curt, "Oh. Hello, Bruce."

"What's the occasion?"

Gordon nodded towards the rooftops.

"A spot of birdwatching."

"…?"

"Robin is up there, helping to take care of the Scarecrow," the Commissioner clarified, and Bruce felt as if his veins were suddenly filled with ice.

* * *

 _Scarecrow made his debut in World's Finest Comics # 3, "The Riddle of the Human Scarecrow". He only made two appearances in the Golden age, and it wasn't until Batman # 189 that the fear gas premiered, "Fright of the Scarecrow"._

 _In Batman # 687, Dick makes his first public appearance as Batman when Scarecrow holds Gotham Bay Bridge hostage and threatens to gas 3000 people. (Also in Superman/Batman # 76, a story where Superman reacts badly to Dick taking up Batman's cowl.)_

 _And of course lately, in Batman & Robin Eternal, Scarecrow is said to be the first real supervillain Robin encounters. However, I'm not sure that is still the case after Rebirth, since we lately have seen Dick much younger when Bruce took him in (you know, as it should be). _

_I know that Oliver Queen is The Liberal of the Justice League (he even left the League once, because he wanted to help ordinary people instead of fighting super-villains), but Bruce Wayne has had periods when he has tried to combat crime by helping people to build their lives outside a criminal career too._

 _If anyone is curious, I've posted the Gotham map I use when I write this on Tumblr. Travis Street I named after the artist Travis G Moore who draws a fantastic Nightwing but has been unfortunate enough to get a sucky storyline (Batman: The prelude to the wedding: Nightwing versus Hush, is better)._

 _I know very little about Cassandra, both pre and post Flashpoint, and neither do I know if her origin story from Batman & Robin Eternal (with Mother involved) is still canon in Rebirth. Everything about her will be very vague. Just saying. _

_And I know even less about Stephanie, by the way. On the other hand, I do have a good grasp of the original Batgirl (Bette) and Batwoman (Kathy), but I don't think they fit in Rebirth, so they're out..._

 _As per usual, you will find some illustrated footnotes on: tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_

 _Oh, and a special message to_ sgtwist _, who posted several comments last week. I would have liked to be able to answer, but since the pm is turned off, I'll say thank you for commenting, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. And as you've noticed, I'm kind of lazy – why try to come up with plots of my own when there are so many good ones to chose from in the old comics ;-)_


	31. Chapter 31

Jim Gordon went back to stare attentively over the rooftops, apparently looking for the Caped Crusaders, and continued:

"We haven't seen Batman yet, but I suppose he's around."

Bruce made a non-committal grunt, and the Commissioner gave him an odd look.

"You don't think Batman lets the kid go out alone, do you?"

Bruce couldn't stop himself.

"You're a father. Are you sure Barbara has never sneaked out behind your back?"

Gordon snorted.

"Not for hunting criminals over the rooftops, no."

True enough, Bruce had to acknowledge. For a few more years – unless he decided to shut Batgirl down. But that was a quandary for another year – right now, he needed to know what Dick was up to.

"What is going on?"

"Scarecrow is threatening to expose the area with his fear gas. He's already used it inside that building, to make sure he got our attention. Luckily he gave the people working inside a head start, and most of them got out unaffected, but eleven people have been taken to the hospital. God, I can still hear their screams ringing in my ears…"

Bruce could very well imagine. He had heard the vail of Scarecrow's victims often enough.

"Hostages?"

"At least ten office workers are still missing, but if they're hiding inside, held hostage or if they're just too terrified to move is anybody's guess. They might even be out; you know how confused everything gets in these situations..."

Bruce grunted in agreement, and Gordon continued.

"We got the call a couple of hours ago, but we haven't been able to get close. Scarecrow has men on the roofs to prevent us from getting in. Three of my men are being treated for bullet wounds…"

"What's his objective? Has he made any demands?"

"Nothing – not yet, anyway," Gordon replied, a tone of bitterness in his voice. "He probably wants to scare as many as possible. It's not enough with the poor bastards that come into contact with his gas; he wants the whole city on high alert. We've cleared the streets and told everyone to close window and doors. Trying to evacuate would probably lead to more harm than good if panic sets in, but I doubt the windows will actually keep the gas out for those who live close by."

Gordon might very well be right – Doctor Jonathan Crane appeared to enjoy seeing people writhe in terror, to know that he held power to scare people out of their wits. Bruce wouldn't put it past him to do something like this for the sheer joy of installing terror. Or perhaps he wanted to test out a new strand of his fear gas, as a demonstration of its effectiveness so that he could use it to collect money sometime in the future. Crane didn't mind playing the long game, after all.

He twitched in uncertainty. With Jim Gordon standing right beside him, he couldn't very well sneak away to get home and change into Batman. He would hardly be in time to make any difference, anyway.

Still, perhaps he ought to try... He could claim he didn't want to risk being exposed to the gas; it wasn't as if Bruce Wayne needed a heroic reputation, anyway.

But it wasn't Dick's first encounter with Crane; as long as the boy kept his gas mask on, he should be all right. He could take out the henchmen on the outside one by one, and there were probably not a lot of men inside…

The thought of leaving, not knowing what was happening and how Dick was doing, was in fact even more gut-wrenching than standing as a helpless spectator.

Suddenly Robin was in full view, coming out of nowhere and doing a double flip before he landed on the roof of the house straight across the street from the red brick building.

"If it weren't a question of life and death, I would say it's a beautiful performance. Wouldn't you agree, Bruce?" Gordon said, following Robin with his eyes.

"It sure is, Jim. It sure is…"

The boy hunched on the edge of the roof and looked intently at the building where Scarecrow was. After a short while he put on his gas mask; Bruce was relieved to see that the boy checked thoroughly that it was securely on before he picked up a grapple gun. Robin hadn't carried that when he landed, his mentor was certain of that; he must have brought it with him but left it when he worked around the buildings. This old model was bulky and heavy to carry in a fight, after all, especially when you were Dick's size.

If Robin was preparing to go inside, he had probably taken care of Scarecrow's men on the outside, or at least the ones he could find. Bruce wouldn't have the time to get out of here and change to Batman, even if he wanted to. But there were other able men who could make a difference...

He turned to Gordon with raised eyebrows.

"Aren't your men going to try to help him, Jim? With gas masks, they should be able to get inside, if Robin has taken out the shooters."

"Batman tends to get annoyed when we get in the way."

Talk about his own bad habits coming back to bite him in the ass, Bruce thought bitterly.

"I don't see Batman. He might not be coming."

"You don't really think he lets the boy out by himself, do you?"

"Did you talk to Batman? Or did Robin turn up by himself?"

"… I called. Robin answered. He said Batman would be on his way when I told him about the situation."

Gordon made a pause to look at Bruce just as Robin shot the grapple hook over the street. A second later, the boy jumped and flew in through a window in a shower of glass shards.

The Commissioner stared after the boy and abruptly turned back towards Bruce.

"Dear lord, you don't think Batman is out of town or something, do you? I asked a child to take on the Scarecrow on his own? But… Batman could be entering another way. He's good at sneaking up… Robin draws the attention so that Batman can turn up unexpected. That's how it works, isn't it?"

"I'm sure it is, Jim," Bruce answered, glad that he at least managed to keep his voice steady.

This never happened, he thought miserably. What did I do that made Crane pull this stunt? I don't understand – I haven't been close to him since I came back in time. But I must have changed something, somehow… Perhaps he wants to challenge Batman after I solved several cases in a row. Perhaps someone who was supposed to land in prison got away when I've been doing things differently.

He could see the irony, all right. Batman had wished for a case he hadn't encountered before because he was getting bored with knowing all the answers. And now when it was happening, he was a helpless spectator with no way to help or keep Robin out of danger. Once more, his wish had been delivered with a vengeance.

Scarecrow… He tried to focus on that Jonathan Crane, too, was younger and less experienced in this time. And that his gas was less potent than the last time Batman remembered meeting him.

Some ten years in the future, when Dick had picked up Batman's cowl, the self-proclaimed "Master of Fear" would hold an entire bridge hostage and threaten to gas them all – or let the gas cloud carry over to Gotham. He had to be grateful that Crane was far from as dangerous in this time. As long as Robin had his gas mask and kept his head cool, he would be alright…

That was why Dick had called – and not answered when Bruce called back. He wanted to alert Batman about Scarecrow, but when Bruce didn't pick up, the boy couldn't stomach leaving people without trying to help. Damned kid always did have a compulsion to save the whole world.

To be fair, they all had. But Bruce had always suspected that the original Robin had it worst, somehow.

He flinched when he heard the sound of three shots in rapid succession from inside. Horrifying images of Robin, lying still in a pool of blood, flashed through his mind and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. It will be alright, he told himself, I've seen Robin kick a man unconscious literally supporting himself on the arm that was firing the gun.

Dick had never been the physically strongest in their little family, but even so, he was in many ways the toughest... He found ways to use his entire body when he fought, jumping or flying to use the momentum to his advantage.

The minutes ticked on but no more shots came from inside the building. They could pick up the occasional sound, but not enough to follow what was happening. Bruce was torn between despair that the bullets had finished Robin, and hope that there was no one left to use a gun. Crane himself didn't usually carry firearms, and the boy was quick enough that he might have taken out at least one man before they got their guns up and ready to shoot.

If Scarecrow and his crew had... caught Robin, the man would not have missed the chance to gloat, Bruce reminded himself. He stared steadily up towards the floor where Dick had entered, but the angle made it impossible to see what might be going on inside.

A yellowish wisp of smoke leaked out of the broken window where Robin had entered. It was not thick enough to be undiluted fear gas; Scarecrow had not been able to carry out his threat.

On a few occasions, he let his glance flicker towards Gordon; the man was equally absorbed by trying to understand what was going on. Thank heavens; Bruce could not have managed even to try to talk. All his energy went to observing the fifth floor of the building and keeping unwanted thoughts from lingering in his mind.

Sixteen minutes and eleven seconds after Robin had crashed through the window, the men on the outside saw the boy again, and finally, Bruce felt as if he could breathe easily again. His protégé had moved up to the roof and looked down at the policemen, giving a cheerful wave as he called to them.

"They're all yours, Commissioner! I think... we've found all of them, but you'd better be careful when you go inside anyway. There are two men up on this roof, two on the grey apartment block and another three on the roof opposite, over there."

Jim Gordon raised a hand to wave at the boy.

"Will do, Robin! Good job! Thank you!"

Bruce noticed the brief hesitation before Robin said "we". For some reason, he preferred the police to believe that Batman had been in there too. He probably didn't want to raise awkward questions about child endangerment, Bruce thought sarcastically, as Robin disappeared from sight. No doubt he would make his way back to his bike on his preferred route, over the rooftops.

Jim Gordon turned to his senior police officers, nodded and said, "All right, let's get inside and take care of Crane and his gang. But keep your eyes open."

As his men made their way into the building, the Commissioner turned back towards Bruce.

"Batman usually comes by to exchange a few words, but I suppose he was in a hurry. If he even were here with Robin…"

Gordon gave Bruce a sideways glance.

"Talking about kids – I heard Dick had an accident?"

Bruce took a deep breath through his nose; Gordon could only have heard about the alleged accident in one way.

"We were climbing up north. I suppose Doctor Lan called you?"

Gordon sighed.

"She sure did. You have a way of getting the obstinate ones on your heels, Bruce…"

"Hnh."

"She asked a lot of questions. It's clear that she has done some digging; she brought up the court case last year, and a number of his old injuries, and that time when we never managed to find Dick's kidnappers."

The fact was, even if Robin did have a somewhat well-earned reputation for being a boy hostage, Dick Grayson had so far never been kidnapped. But there had been one time when a made up story about a failed kidnapping attempt had been the best cover story Bruce could come up with to explain injuries that Robin had been inflicted.

The Commissioner waited; when Bruce didn't answer, he sighed again and continued.

"You know I wouldn't have endorsed you as the boy's guardian if I hadn't trusted you, Bruce. But you have to admit; when you put it all together, it looks like ground for reasonable suspicion."

"… I know what it looks like, Jim," Bruce said, staring in front of him. "Do you know what she intends to do?"

"No. I gave her reasonable answers for everything she asked, but she didn't seem ready to accept it just yet."

"… Hh. Thanks for telling me."

Bruce glanced at his friend, who was looking at him with poorly veiled pity.

"I'm not going to let them take him, Jim. Dick has lost enough already – he's not going to lose another family."

It wasn't only about Dick. If he lost the guardianship of his first boy, it could mean that taking in any of the other kids would not even be an option. It might even make it difficult for him to help them in another way, if the court or the media branded him as a child abuser.

"I know, Bruce," the older man said softly.

"I want to adopt him," he said, abruptly.

He didn't want to live with the uncertainty that the authorities suddenly could take the boy from him. And Dick would be better off, being secure in the knowledge that their family ties were forever. It should alleviate the tension and Dick's abandonment issues if there would ever be another kid in the household.

He glanced at Gordon, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"How long do you think until the court decides I'm responsible enough to let me adopt him? They can't discriminate me for being a single man forever."

"That was sudden, Bruce... As long as Doctor Lan is scrutinising you, it's probably not the best time. If you can convince her, a judge will seem a pushover in comparison..."

Bruce grunted and pushed his hands deep down in his pockets.

"I guess I shouldn't occupy you with my family troubles, when you have to clear out after the Scarecrow, Jim. I'll see you later."

He felt drained when he slowly walked back to his car. Looking over the building at Travis Street would have to be left for another day – right now he needed to get home to his ward.

* * *

 _In The Untold Legend of the Batman # 2, a retelling of Batman's story (from 1980), Bruce wants to adopt Dick as soon as he takes him in, but the judge refuses since he's a bachelor. This contradicts for instance Tales of the Teen Titans # 50, of course, (from 1984), when Dick asks if Bruce ever thought about adopting him. And Bruce answers that he was too young and too obsessed beginning his career as Batman, and never gave it much thought._

 _As far as I can understand, after Flashpoint, Bruce has not adopted anyone. I like to think that even if that is the case, coming back in time like this and having learned a bit or two about relationships and family dynamics, Bruce would conclude that it would be better to adopt Dick._

 _Reading fanfic, you get the impression that Dick Grayson was kidnapped at least once a month. But I honestly can't remember that it's ever happened. Robin, yes, but Dick, no. Once when he was at Hudson University (Detective Comics # 488), Dick was one of several intended targets, but he happened to cross the street and avoided being kidnapped. And Ra's al Ghul took him, of course, in Batman # 232, but he knew that Dick was Robin and had his own very particular reasons._

 _But I'm thinking that a made up story about an attempted kidnapping could be a believable cover when something has happened to Robin, and he gets injuries that will be visible at school._

 _"Dick was always the toughest, " Bruce thinks to himself that time he accidentally got Superman's powers. And got a little crazy in the process. And beat up Selina and broke Dick's jaw, among other things, when Nightwing tried to stop him. (Superman/Batman #55-56)_

 _And no, we never did see Bruce apologise for that either._

 _Talking about Dick's fighting style, I've put together some pics on my Tumblr._

 _Fun fact, since someone asked after the last chapter: Barbara Gordon was not the first Batgirl. There were a Batwoman and Batgirl for a while in the 50s and 60s; wealthy heiress and former circus performer Kathy Kane who was Batwoman and love interest to Bruce and Batman, and her niece Bett Batgirl (who flirted with Robin). Post-Crisis, Betty was transformed into Bette Kane, who used the moniker Flamebird._

 _As per usual, you will find a few illustrated footnotes_ on: tumblr com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	32. Chapter 32

"Home already, sir? I was under the impression that you intended to spend the rest of the day in town," Alfred welcomed Bruce as he walked into the Manor.

Bruce snorted.

"Something came up… Alfred, when did you last see Dick?"

During the trip home, the feeling of weariness that had come over him right after the incident had been replaced by righteous anger at having his orders disobeyed. He had some choice words to tell his ward.

"Not since an early lunch, I'm afraid. I have been performing my duties up here, and the lad went down to the cave. I'm sure he's still down there."

"… I'm sure he is – he should be back by now. Robin has been busy, taking down the Scarecrow in Gotham."

"… Oh dear."

"Hnh. Gordon called Batman for help, and when I didn't answer my phone, Dick went on his own. I just happened to be in the area and witness the whole thing. That boy is going to give me grey hairs…"

"I say."

"He bloody well knows I've forbidden him to go out as Robin! Why the hell can't he obey orders, just for a few measly weeks?!"

"… Indeed, sir. I can't think where he got this foolish idea that fighting criminals takes precedence over everything, and most certainly over his own safety."

Bruce took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest, to prevent himself from shrinking physically as well as mentally under his surrogate father's deceptively even gaze.

"… That's… low, Alfred."

"So was your choice of words. Sir."

"Oh, for… All right, Alfred. My apologies for… using strong langue."

"Quite. Do you want me to accompany you downstairs, sir?"

Bruce snorted at the butler's subtle way to tell him to behave.

"It's fine. I promise I will be civil with him, but I need to make him understand he can't do this again. We'll see you at dinner."

"And if the young master is hurt?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Don't trust me to put on a band-aid, do you?"

"Not when you see the Superman ones that Master Richard asked me to buy, sir…"

"Don't worry, Alfred, I'll call you if he needs any professional help," Bruce promised and continued towards the cave entrance behind the grandfather clock.

Alfred was right to warn him, of course, and he was grateful that the butler had put him in his place. For all that he had been more laid back in his attitude towards Robin's safety in this time, compared to when he was older and more battle-scarred, there had still been times when he had shouted at his protégé in situations like this.

And it had never done any of them any good – least of all himself. He should be mature enough to be able to express his concerns in another way, by now.

Nevertheless, he had to make Dick understand – and obey his orders. And right after dinner, he was going to connect all the trackers hidden in Dick's and Robin's outfits directly to both Bruce Wayne's mobile phone and the Batcomputer; the next time Dick left his usual locations, Bruce would be alerted instantly. Personal integrity be damned.

Robin was sitting by the computer, writing his report, when Bruce reached the cave. The boy looked unharmed, apart from some red scratches and bruises blossoming on his arms and legs. But he held himself stiffly, and when he turned the chair to greet his mentor, he did so in a much slower and mature fashion than Dick would typically do. Dick Grayson at any age, but especially in this time.

"Bruce! I saw you with the Commissioner. How come you were there? You didn't answer your phone, so I thought you didn't know about what was going on…"

"Are you hurt?" Bruce asked, ignoring the question.

Robin shrugged – with a slow and short movement – and gingerly turned back to the computer screen.

"No. The guys outside didn't even see me coming. And Scarecrow only had two men with him inside; it wasn't a problem."

Right. Bruce knew an exaggerated downplay of the difficulty of a mission when he saw one. He had had so many years and so many partners to learn from, after all. It made him wonder how many times in his youth he had accepted Dick's assurances without question.

"They must have got in some hits. You've got bruises, and I can see at least three bleeding scratches."

Dick looked himself over and scrunched his nose.

"Hm. It's nothing – some of them must be from the impact when I took them out. Dummies are made out of wood, y'know..."

"Please stand up."

Robin shrugged again and rose from the chair, somewhat slow and stiff.

"You move like you're in pain."

"Honestly, they hardly touched me…"

"Take off the suit. I want to see the knife wound."

Dick rolled his eyes but started to unbutton the garment.

"It hasn't opened if that's what you're thinking. It's healed enough."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking, and I want to see for myself. I'll get you a sweatshirt to put on instead."

Dick was probably right – the wound was healed enough, and the lingering soreness would be enough to account for his stiffness – but Bruce was taking no chances. He hurried over to the part of the cave where they changed into civilian clothes and found a warm sweater and loose pants for the boy. When he returned, Robin's red vest was lying over the computer chair, and the green leotard was hanging around his hips.

"See?" Dick said, turning and showing his back with a short jerk of his head towards the scar.

Bruce only had to glance to see that he had been correct about the knife wound. But he took his time to look the boy over, ending his inspection with parting Dick's hair to check for marks on the scalp under the thick, black locks; ignoring his ward's slight huff of annoyance.

Thankfully, Robin had indeed come out of the confrontation with only scratches and bruises. Thank heavens for Scarecrow's decision to spread his men thin so that Robin could concentrate on one man at a time. The boy was skilled, but not enough to fight half a dozen men at the same time; he was far too small and light for that.

But Dick hadn't known that when he left the Batcave to help. There was that damned impulsiveness again…

Bruce tried to be fair and reminded himself that the part of the human brain that dealt with long term planning and considering consequences was a late developer – it wouldn't be fully developed until the mid-20s. The child in front of him still hade many years to get to that point – he only had to stay alive, until then…

In this time – just as he had done in Bruce's old life. God, what if he failed to keep Dick alive this time. Surely, he wouldn't survive that.

He pushed the thought away and held out the boy's civilian clothes.

"Hnh. Here, change."

Dick cringed into the sweater and stepped out of the leotard before he put the pants on.

"You were very lucky," Bruce said, slowly, when Dick was sitting down again, "that Scarecrow had his men spread too thin. But what would you have done if all of them had been on one roof? You know trying to take down several armed men at a time is too dangerous. You're fast, but you're not faster than a bullet."

"I would have used more smoke, of course. I already did on the roof with the three gunmen; they were too close together for me to surprise them. Smoke bombs and sleeping gas pellets, just as you did on that deserted ship."

Dear god – so Robin hadn't been able to pick Crane's henchmen off one by one, as Bruce had thought. He swallowed.

"The breeze might disperse the gas too fast for it to be effective. It's different outside, up on a roof, compared to an enclosed space."

"…I know! That's why I brought a supply of the bigger gas bombs; they don't fit in my utility belt."

The boy made a gesture to a grey canvas rucksack that lay in a heap on the floor beside the computer chair.

"It doesn't take a lot to confuse them; enough that I could take them and tie them up before they were clear in the head again.

"You brought the grapple hook gun and extra smoke bombs in a rucksack," said Bruce, flatly.

"And extra sleeping gas. And an ethylene torch, in case I needed one to get into the building. I was afraid the one in my belt wouldn't be powerful enough to manage that. I can't wait to grow up so I can have bigger pouches – like you..."

"So you had thought through what to do, if Crane had all his manpower and perhaps hostage inside…"

Dick swung the chair around, quickly this time, to face his mentor and glared.

"What? Don't you think I planned for different scenarios before I did something up there? That I didn't spend time looking for his men on the outside and trying to figure out if he had hostages? Why can't you trust me to do what you have been training me to do for years?"

Less than three years was not what Bruce would have called "years" – he himself had trained for considerably longer before starting his career as Batman, after all – but he let that one slide without comment. Relief that Dick had taken his preaching about careful planning to heart flooded him, mixed with fear over what the small child in front of him was prepared to do for Batman's mission.

Robin was good for Batman; he knew that. Batman did need a Robin. But one of his own worst fears was that Batman was the opposite of good for Robin. The kids could all have had so much better lives without him.

Dick had told him, more than once, that Batman didn't make him Robin. That he was heading down that path himself and that Bruce made sure he didn't kill himself along the way. But he couldn't quite believe it – it would be just like Dick to say something like that, to make Bruce feel better about himself.

Except for the times when they were at odds with each other and Dick would choose his words to hurt, of course. But however mad Dick had been with him, he had never accused Bruce of forcing him to become a vigilante.

"I'm glad to hear that you planned for different scenarios, Dick. But you shouldn't have gone out. You know perfectly well that you disobeyed a direct order. I don't want Robin in the field until you're better protected."

"They needed help! It's what we do!"

"You should have continued to call me and stayed at home. I only missed your call by fifteen minutes. You know that is what I wanted you to do."

"I didn't know how busy you were – it could have taken hours to get Batman there. Scarecrow might have used the gas."

It was all too easy to forget that behind the charming facade that Dick Grayson put up, there was a stubborn, stubborn boy. Bruce could count on one hand the occasions when he had managed to convince Dick of something, once the boy had got an idea stuck in his head.

How many times had he let his frustration and fear transform into anger, and yelled at his protégés when they had endangered themselves? And all it would result in was that he would feel bad once he had calmed down, and increase the risk that the resentment that Robin – any Robin – felt spilt over in further dangerous exploits.

No, he needed to be calm. Calm, and crystal clear, and leave no room for creative thinking.

Bruce crouched in front of the chair and gripped Dick's chin lightly in one hand to force the boy to meet his eyes.

"Dick. One more stunt and I will burn the Robin suit – all of them – to make sure you can't go out until the new one is ready. And from now on, you are locked out of the cave on your own. You will only be permitted to come here to work on the suit or when I invite you to train with me; for regular training, you will use the upstairs gym. Do you understand?"

Dick stared back, with his lips pressed together and a slight frown.

"Tell me you understand, or we'll be standing here all night."

"I couldn't let Scarecrow gas the city," the boy insisted, mulishly.

Bruce had to restrain himself from sighing.

"I know why you did it. And you did well. But you swore an oath, and you promised that you would obey my orders. Even if it meant watching me die. Do you remember?"

Dick flinched slightly at his words, and his eyes widened for a second, but eventually, the boy nodded hesitantly.

"I'm not shutting Robin down. But you will obey me in this. The faster you put some work into the new suit, the faster you can go back out. And we will talk about cave privileges as soon as you're out in the field again. Now, tell me you understand."

"… I understand."

"Tell me exactly what I've said to you."

It took a few seconds, but finally, Dick answered, in a strained voice.

"Robin is grounded. I'm not permitted in the cave alone. I can only come down to train with you or to work on a new suit."

"And now, tell me you will obey."

"… Yes, sir."

He didn't for a second believe that the boy would obey his every order in the future; Dick wouldn't be Dick if he did. But as long as he could keep him from going out a few weeks until they had finished Robin's updated suit, Bruce would count it as a win.

* * *

 _Robin swore an oath in his very first comic, of course. And in Robin: Year one, after Dick has run away and come back, Bruce reminds him about the oath and that he wants Robin to be a good soldier._

 _Dick has been creative in his ways to circumnavigate orders in the past, so Bruce is wise to spell things out. In "The Plainclothes Robin", by David Vern (Star Spangled Comics # 112) Bruce forbids Dick to put on the Robin suit for 30 days because there's a gang after him. Dick obeys to the letter but brings the suit out with him to fool the gang that Robin is there._

 _Batman & Robin Eternal was kind of hit and miss, to my mind, and I'm not sure how much of it is part of the continuity any more, seeing as Tim has (I'm pretty sure?) got his original origin story back. (Thankfully, because I did not like the part when his parents were alive but living with protected identities, apparently because Tim managed to piss the Penguin off trying to impress Batman. Why on Earth would Bats take in such an irresponsible boy?)_

 _But one of the hit-parts was when Dick says that Bruce didn't make him Robin, he was heading down the path himself. (Batman & Robin Eternal. # 26)_

 _And the thing about the human brain not being fully developed until around 25 is true, of course._

 _Check out my illustrated footnotes on: tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_

 _(Ailyn Vel: No no, thank you! – for giving me an excuse to write about the Golden age batwomen :-) )_


	33. Chapter 33

What Bruce Wayne had got sidetracked from, Batman intended to fulfil. He went out early in the evening, parked the car in the darkest corner of the darkest blind alley he knew in the vicinity of the building in Travis Street, and headed for the rooftops.

The tenement building that housed the Todd family was in neither worse nor better shape than most buildings in the area. A six storey building that, by the look of it, could house anything between 20 and 30 units, including the basement. Though it was probably closer to 30, Batman thought, considering the economic status of the typical resident around Crime Alley. They tended to live crowded, either in small flats or by renting out spare rooms.

It was early enough in the evening that he could see occupants inside several of the windows. He didn't know on which floor the Todd's lived – but perhaps he could find them if they were in one of the flats higher up.

He might get lucky… To catch a glimpse of Jason, several years younger than he had ever seen the boy. Batman took out his binoculars and started scanning the windows, one by one.

The building occupied half a block, with three sides facing different streets – Travis Street, Swan Alley and Wolfram Street. Batman was perched on the fire stairs on the house across the street on Wolfram Street, as far into the shadows as he could get, when he spotted them – Jason and Catherine. He felt as if his heart made a small jump inside his chest and his pulse quickened.

Mother and son were sitting at the kitchen table, eating a simple meal. It was a warm summer evening, and they had the window open.

It was not an idyllic scene, not by a long shot. But Catherine was giving the boy a tired smile, they had food on the table, and Batman could see a couple of books on the edge of the table. An adventure book about what appeared to be a pilot named Biggles, a children's book on American birds and an old school book in geography.

The school start in Gotham was still a few weeks away, but perhaps the boy was reading up to prepare for the next semester – that would be a good sign.

He let his eyes roam over the boy that had become the second Robin. The face and arms showed that he was thin but not blatantly malnourished, there were no signs of abuse, his hair was cut short but not by a well-trained hand, and the t-shirt had been mended. A poor family, but still with a grown-up who tried to keep it together.

It was difficult to picture the tiny boy growing into a heavy fighter, not much shorter than Bruce himself. At least, this time Jason would not have to put on muscles to survive, Batman silently promised himself.

He did not know the extent of Catherine Todd's drug problems in this period. Perhaps she was still well enough that she could actually hold down a job if he could find a way for Wayne Industries to make an offer.

He would still prefer to get Jason to another part of Gotham, though, even if the idea to buy the tenement building fell through. But there were hardly any jobs that came with housing for the staff, were there…?

Batman slowly lowered the binoculars – he had seen what he had come to see, after all. But he stayed on the fire stairs, staring into the kitchen on the other side of the street and mulling over what he could and should do.

Catherine's death by an overdose was still years in the future – at least it should be. Unless Batman inadvertently changed something… For the worse, not for the better, as he fully intended to.

Since coming into this era, Batman had not been very active around Crime Alley. He had been busy with crimes in other parts of the city. But the fact was, Willis Todd was a criminal and Catherine and Jason lived in a crime-infested part of Gotham. There was a myriad of ways that Batman's actions could already have set the stage for repercussions on their lives; Scarecrow's recent attack had certainly driven that point home.

All it took was that the wrong man walked free, instead of being locked up in Blackgate, for a shooting to take place in Travis Street when Jason was passing by. Or a contaminated batch of drugs to end up in Catherine's veins. Even his plan to make sure mother and son got a place to live in a better part of Gotham could backfire…

But what else could he do? If he did nothing, Jason would one day end up on the streets, a de facto orphan.

Only when Jason grabbed his books and disappeared from sight did Batman rise from the fire stair and start to move away. He should make his way around the city, after all, to make sure it was as safe as possible for everyone, not daydream the night away.

There were so many factors to take into account, and so much he needed to know about Catherine and Jason's immediate circumstances before he could try to make a difference.

Maybe he could even enlist the help of Dick… He remembered that his eldest boy had worked with underprivileged children at several times, both as Robin and as Dick Grayson. Perhaps some kind of youth centre, where the kids would have the opportunity to try out different sports and hobbies and get help with their school work…

Batman made his way over the rooftops and kept his eyes and ears open. It was a calm evening, so far; no sounds of gunshots or skidding cars, no voices raised in fear or confrontation.

He kept going from one building to the other, and before he knew it, he had moved past the Crime Alley area Bowery into New Town.

If he had come this far… With the help of the grapple hook gun he had brought with him he eventually landed on the tallest building, overlooking the yacht basin and the bridge over to Bristol.

On the other side of the dark water, he could see the lights of Wayne Manor; a small bright speck in the shadowy area that was the manor grounds.

It was far too early to leave the city and head home, but it was also a bit early to expect any real night-time crime to take place. He could get back to the car and cruise the city, waiting to pick up a report of something happening, or he could continue to travel over the rooftops on this side of Sprang River for a few hours. It never hurt to remind the criminals of Gotham of who was silently watching the city, after all.

He hesitated; neither alternative really felt… tempting. He had almost forgotten how dreary and utterly joyless Gotham could look.

To be honest, he knew what the problem was; he missed the company. It had been well over two weeks since he last patrolled Gotham with a Robin.

The upside was that he did not have to lie or deflect about certain things; he would have had a hard time explaining why he wanted to stalk a mother and child in a derelict tenement building, for a start. But the charm of not having to adapt to a younger partner had been wearing thin for some time now.

Batman, feeling lonely; he almost snorted to himself, squatting on the rooftop. Admitting feelings like that sure would do his hard-earned reputation as a badass loner no good…

But surely, the playful competition to find or prevent crimes between himself and a partner made their crimefighting more efficient.

Of course, if his plans came to pass in this time, he would be looking at a lot of solo work in the future; in just a few more years, Dick would want to get out of the bat's shadow. He was not going to bring another child into the game; that had been the whole point of staying here, after all. To make sure that the kids had better lives.

All the more important to cherish the time he had with a younger partner… He really must encourage the boy to put some serious work into his new suit, so Robin could fly again.

Truth be told, he was curious to see what Dick would come up with. Dick had been the driving force behind the designing of both the original suit with shorts and short legs ("it's a leotard…") and the Robin suit he had used later on, with long sleeves and arms. Neither of which were armoured enough, however, if Bruce had anything to say about it. Which he did.

For all that Dick was one of the best team players in the cape community, he was also a staunch individualist. He had created the playful Robin identity as well as the more sombre Nightwing, who paid homage to both Batman and Superman – and he had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the Batsuit. While the other boys had been happy to pick up Robin's legacy, and Damian certainly had his eyes set on his father's cowl.

Once more, his musings had taken him into uncomfortable territory; Batman decidedly stopped thinking of the family he had left behind and tore his eyes from Wayne Manor to look over Gotham. There was a concert going on at the Knights Stadium; surely, there would be some cleaning up to do when the audience left the arena. He would make a sweep over the Northern part of the city until that.

* * *

The cave was silent and empty when Batman finally returned. No sleepy boy in the seat beside him or joyous greeting from a child left at home, no calm words of welcome from a secretly relieved butler.

And no questions about what he wanted for his nightly snack, either. There was, however, a thermos flask and a plate with two sandwiches waiting for him. With a plastic cup. And not his favourite sandwich, either.

He sighed. Alfred was clearly not happy with him. Damn it, all he tried to do was keep the boy safe, something that the older man had always thought Bruce did a miserable job of. But the butler apparently thought he was doing something wrong, this time too. There really was no pleasing the old man…

Bruce supposed he should count his blessings, that Alfred had made him an evening meal at all… He sat down in front of the computer to write his report and unscrewed the cork of the thermos flask to pour a cup of tea. Unsurprisingly, Alfred hadn't made him his usual Earl Grey, but something with a smokey scent instead of his preferred hint of bergamot.

Batman sighed again and started writing his report. As far as thwarting criminal activities were concerned, it had been an uneventful night, and that part of his work was swiftly finished. But he couldn't set his mind at rest; he kept pondering what to do about Jason and Catherine.

He knew that sleep would be impossible as long as the thoughts kept swirling in his head, but the Batcomputer would be of no further use to him. After a short pause, he poured the last of the tea in his cup and left the computer seat to walk over to one of the office desks in the cave; if he weren't stubbornly set on disliking whatever Alfred was punishing him with at the moment, he would concede that the tea was actually pretty decent. Then he sat down, gripped a pen and paper and started to compile a list of what to do and different avenues to look into.

Talk with Leslie about the idea to buy the apartment building and ask what she knew about Catherine and Jason was at the top; if he were in luck, the physician might even have an idea about a work that would suit Catherine. And he needed to check with the HR department of Wayne Enterprises what kind of jobs were available inside the business group. As far as he knew, he didn't own any cafés or anything like that where they took on unskilled labour, but he had been surprised before when it came to his family company…

In the end, it was a pretty short list, but it was a start – and enough to set his mind at rest for the night. Bruce put down the pen and locked the document in one of his safety boxes; it wouldn't do to let Dick or Alfred find his notes, after all.

Finally, he could head for the shower and prepare for bed to catch some sleep to get ready for a new day.

He had spent most of this night focusing on the boy that was never going to become the second Robin. The coming day, he promised himself, he was going to concentrate on the boy that actually lived under his roof.

* * *

 _Once I had Jason with an adventure book for kids, it was perfectly natural for it to be a Biggles book. The British airman Biggles has never been a big hit in the States, so if you're from there it's no surprise if you don't know who it is, but a few of the 99 books have at least been published. (I've collected them for ages.) I'm sure Jason's mother could pick it up for next to nothing in a charity shop – it might even be a Canadian edition._

 _This is what's called "_ intresseklubben antecknar _", in my country, by the way. At least it was in my youth. I believe the kids say something like "I'll put it down in my iCare", these days._

 _If you're anything like me, sometimes you get confused by the two very different versions of_ JasonRobin _you will encounter both in canon and fanon. That's because there are basically two Jasons in canon comics since his origin was retconned "live". I've made a blog post about that, to set things straight for myself at least._

 _There's also an old blog post about that cosy little corner of the Batcave where Bruce could sit at a desk with paper and pencil._

 _And a recent blog post about a few times when Dick has arranged activities for kids from poor backgrounds._

 _Again, if you had the misfortune ( ;-) ) to miss my earlier blog post about tea and Batman, I've reblogged it on Tumblr. Alfred usually serves Earl Grey, but I'm sure he personally prefers a more pure tea. I've seen him with a cup of Darjeeling somewhere, and Assam somewhere else. Both good choices, in my opinion. In this chapter, he's giving Bruce a thermos of Lapsang Souchong (another favourite of mine)._

 _And I managed to sneak in two more streets in Gotham named after Bat-creators I like! Swan Alley for Curt Swan who is mostly known for Superman but who did the art for World's Finest for a time, and Wolfram Street for Amy Wolfram who wrote Teen Titans Year One. Travis Street, of course, was named for Travis G Moore. (The current Nightwing comic book still sucked when I last bought it, a couple of months ago, but at least it looks good with his art.)_

 _If you've forgotten, I've posted the map I work with on my Tumblr._

 _Check out my illustrated footnotes_ on: _Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	34. Chapter 34

Batman had skipped the Justice League meetings since he was transported to his earlier life. The latest one had taken place the day after Robin's injury; Wonder Woman had even called to ask for him since he hadn't attended for several weeks, but she had accepted that he wanted to stay with Robin without further questions.

But this week he was going to bite the bullet. He needed to reintegrate himself into the League of this time, after all, and he did not have any pressing matters in Gotham to take care of. He did, on the other hand, have things he wanted to do in the cave headquarter of the vintage League.

Vintage... That was actually a word that came to his mind a lot these days, Batman reflected while he stood before his old Batplane. How much easier his crimefighting had become once he got a plane that could hover... He needed to write "updated Batplane" on his to-do list, right up there with Robin's suit, a new Batmobile that was not a cabriolet, and finance research on nanotechnology that could be incorporated in textile. Not forgetting about improved grapple hook guns and a satellite headquarter for the Justice League, he mentally added to his list as he sat down in the pilot's seat.

It wasn't that he had any room to complain about having a cave for a headquarter, but he was going to miss the breathtaking view over Earth from the JLA satellite. And it was a much better location, seeing as a lot of the League's missions were about global and space-faring threats.

At least he wouldn't be without things to do, even if there would be some cases he could solve more by memory than by detective skills, Batman thought as he pushed the joystick forward for take-off.

Things in the old – current – League headquarter were pretty much as Batman remembered them. The equipment was just as primitive as its counterpart in the Batcave, and it had been an easy task, once he had arrived early to be sure he could get his work done while he was alone, to install the safeguards that he wanted to try out.

Most of the members of the very first incarnation of the Justice League made their appearance, one after another, and they were soon seated around their conference table. Batman had thought that by now, he was accustomed to seeing friends and associates much younger and more innocent than when he last met them, but he couldn't help feeling as if he were the only adult in a room full of… if not kids, at least youngsters. Some of them were hardly older than Dick was in his own time – and with the exception of Diana, none of them had been active anywhere near as long as Nightwing. Neither had the Batman, in this time, he thought with a pang of sadness.

The cave headquarter felt cramped and joyless, the League too small, and it was strange to see Wonder Woman as the only female member around the table. The things that he had thought were normal, once…

Only Green Arrow and J'onn J'onzz were missing; Batman had actually made certain of the latter's absence before he decided to come. For all that the Martian would try to avoid invading his privacy by reading his mind, he was pretty sure that he was still a far cry from being adjusted enough to this reality to avoid broadcasting to a telepath that something was wrong.

He listened with half an ear to the discussion around the table, where Superman was acting chairman.

"We've had no unusual crimes reported to us the last week. Does anyone have something to report?"

Batman noticed that Green Lantern looked at him as if expecting him to bring up the pesky imp. But he had no intention of raising the subject and kept stubbornly silent while the Flash reported that Captain Cold was back in custody after his latest crime spree, and Green Lantern told them about how he had defeated The Puppeteer since the League's last meeting.

"Most of our known enemies are locked up and accounted for, aren't they?" Aquaman put in. "Brain storm and his brother are still in jail, and so is Despero."

"Amazo is also unable to threaten us; the android is still standing in the display case in our souvenir room," added Wonder Woman.

"And Felix Faust is currently deprived of his magical abilities," said Superman.

Much as Batman had expected, the meeting would not provide him with any pertinent information beside the opportunity to re-acquaint himself with his fellow leaguers and the headquarter. And to try out the improved surveillance equipment he had been working on the last few days, and installed in close proximity to the conference table.

He eventually excused himself, grunting about an important phone call, and left the room to test the hidden devices. They still needed improvement before they would be able to broadcast all the way to the Batcave, but as long as he could piggyback on the ordinary communication line from the headquarter, they would fulfil their purpose.

With Superman close by, he needed to make a call to avoid annoying questions; since Bruce Wayne was overdue to exchange a few words in preparation to his next board meeting, he could kill two birds with one stone. He would have no problems playing mostly clue-less company figurehead at the same time as he checked that the audio and video transmitters worked.

He made his phone call and let the company director on the other end get started before he turned on the surveillance equipment.

"Doesn't Bats strike you as... odd?" he heard Hal Jordan say in his right ear, the one that was not currently occupied with an update on the financial market.

"Odd? In which way?"

He tensed – was Jordan going to bring up his request for help looking for the imp? He hadn't asked the man to keep it a secret, after all. And if Superman heard about it, there would be no end to the questions.

"I'm not sure... he just doesn't sound like himself. I mean, the guy is no chatterbox, we all know that, but I've never heard him go through a whole meeting with nothing but grunts."

By now, he had picked up the small video receiver from his utility belt and could see a flickering picture overlooking the room with the conference table. The quality of the image was acceptable, for this era; but then, he was only ten meters away.

"He was a bit more taciturn than usual when I last worked with him," Superman agreed, "but I got the impression he was frustrated because he was forced to sit that particular case out. Since then, he hasn't been in touch."

"And that's not unusual?"

"Not hearing from Batman for a fortnight? Not really."

Clearly, he was not the only one to find the current situation different from what he was used to. He had changed enough over the years that he couldn't play the part of his younger self perfectly.

No matter; they would get used to him over time. But it would ease the transition if he put in a few words from time to time, he sighed to himself.

"His child has been hurt – that was why he did not attend last week. It is not unreasonable for Batman to be more on edge than usual," he heard Wonder Woman say.

"His child...? You mean Robin?"

"… There's not anyone else, surely?"

The meeting room fell silent for a few moments, and then he heard the voice of Flash.

"You know, the thought of Batman with a whole cave full of kids... It's kind of scary, but I can't decide whether it's scary for the kids or the rest of us."

Batman rolled his eyes to the sound of snorts and giggles from the Leaguers. Then he heard Superman's voice in his earpiece.

"Jokes aside, I think you all underestimate Batman. He takes great care or Robin. Their partnership is good for both of them."

"Maybe so, but you can't tell me it's a healthy situation for a child. I'm sure that both Robin and Bats have their reasons why they think their little arrangement is a great idea, but I sincerely hope there aren't any more kids with that kind of luggage out there," Green Lantern retorted.

Batman found himself sympathising with Hal Jordan on this particular subject – but it was typical that he was the one to express somewhat square opinions about younger partners. The man would never get an apprentice or have a younger relative with superpowers, after all.

Hal didn't become Green Lantern because he wanted it or because of something that had happened to him personally, but because the Guardians from Oa chose him. Things tended to be black or white in how Hal Jordan saw the world.

The discussion in the meeting room moved on to other subjects, and shortly after Batman returned to sit out the rest of the gathering, making an effort to utter a few words occasionally, until the meeting was over.

Luckily, even the Batman of this time was known to be something of a control freak, and no-one was surprised when he stayed on his own after the meeting, claiming he needed to check something. Superman made an effort to stay and talk, but Batman deflected until the Kryptonian tired and left him to his own devices.

It was true enough, what he had said; he needed to check on his hidden surveillance equipment and, more importantly, decide what to do. Leave it in place, or remove it once he had ascertained that he could make it work.

Anything could happen in the League headquarter and an intruder might find some way to take control of the regular video and audio links. His hidden equipment might one day be their only means to see and hear what was going on.

But Batman had lived through times when his wish to control and his inability to trust had severely damaged relationships and his collaboration with others. The consequences had at times been disastrous and something he wanted to avoid. Whether he would accomplish that by using everything he knew to prevent certain things from happening or going behind their backs to a lesser extent; that was the question.

Dick was more open to trusting others – far too trustful, in Batman's opinion – but there was no denying that he was a better team player and, in many ways, a better leader than his mentor was. Perhaps he ought to take a page out of Dick's book, after all.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead through the cowl – he had better remove the hidden surveillance equipment, at least for now, and figure it out later. If some of the others found it, there would be no end to the arguments. He could bring it up with Clark later on, tell the man that he would like to have safeguards in place inside the League headquarter. Surely they could find an acceptable solution…

Besides, there was another way inside the headquarter that Batman could use in case of emergencies, as long as no-one on the inside disabled it: to hack the computer equipment. All he needed to do was to sit down and go through the codes, and he would be fully prepared.

But the hardware was not the only part of being prepared that he needed to work on when it came to the Justice League. Batman's contingency plans for his fellow leaguers had not been more than a vague idea, at this time. Most of them still didn't know who Batman was behind the mask, and he had been more trusting as a young man.

He couldn't let history repeat itself when it came to someone else finding and taking advantage of his preparations – but on the other hand, he could not neglect to plan for the possibility that his colleagues would become threats. Some of them would, whatever he did to change the future, of that he had no doubt – even if it might not be of their own volition.

The League wasn't about friendship; that had always been a fundamental difference between the League and the Teen Titans, or the Titans. He wasn't here to relax with friends, or learn from friends; he was here to help protect the world. And that included from threats that might stem from the League itself.

And from him – he had to acknowledge as much. Sometimes, his own actions had put the world at risk.

He had contingency plans for people who most believed was his best friends. He lied to them, over and over again, to make sure he could stand against them if it came to that. But what happened when they finally stopped trusting him? Had the world been safer, when that had happened? He could spy on them and keep a watchful eye on them, even from the outside, but was that a better option?

Trusting came at a price; he had always operated from that knowledge. But lying and distrust had a price-tag, too.

Batman sat back in the chair in front of the computer console in the headquarter and pinched the bridge of the cowl's nose protector hard enough to feel it. He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly; he mustn't fool himself that he could solve all the problems and conflict of interests that lay ahead at once. Whatever he decided would have far-reaching consequences; he should give himself time to consider different alternatives.

He slowly straightened up, rolled his shoulders a few times and rose from the chair. It was still early evening, and he had been cooped up in the Batcave for too much of the last days, working from what he remembered on cases instead of having to do the actual footwork. An ordinary patrol would do him good, he decided; he started walking towards where he had parked the Batplane, meaning to fly back to the cave and exchange it for the Batmobile.

When he later headed out from the Batcave the sky had only just darkened; he left the car and took to the roofs at the earliest possible moment. It was peaceful up there, on top of the sky-reaching buildings of Gotham city. The darkness hid much of the changes from what he was used to. For a moment he could almost forget that he had been displaced in time; he could imagine that the Robin waiting for Batman to come home would be Damian and that there might be half a dozen youngsters training or working in the Batcave when he returned.

Tim would hunch over the computer with Jason needling him about being a geek, Damian would demand that Dick spar with him and be annoyed when his opponent teasingly used his acrobatics to keep far away from all attacks, Barbara would be teaching Cassandra ballet steps with Stephanie giving less than helpful but humorous advice, and Duke would be sitting backwards on a chair, reading and sending heavenward glances from time to time at the others' antiques. Perhaps even Alfred would be there, pretending to dust some of the glass cases but in reality enjoying the sound of life and laughter in the vast cave.

Batman shut the line of thought down right there. It was a ridiculously idyllic daydream that bore no resemblance to reality, even in his own time. His protégés were never in the cave at the same time, all of them had their own life outside of Batman's realm, and few of them were close to each other. The only thing they had in common was that, for a longer or shorter period, he had taken them as a partner and trained them. Some had lived with him like family for many years; some had come and gone for a while.

And he had watched too many of them die... Regardless of that they had come back, whether after a few agonising seconds without a heartbeat or truly coming back from the dead after an extended period of time, it never ceased to make his blood run cold of guilt.

He tore his thoughts away from had been and concentrated on observing his surroundings. Eventually, he caught a glimpse of a sleek shadow moving gracefully over one of Gotham's most exclusive apartment buildings.

Sooner or later, he was bound to come across her, wasn't he… He threw his batarang line and flew over to the building, coming to a stop in front of Selina Kyle – Catwoman.

She stopped short some yards away from him, straightening up and putting her hands on her hips. She looked just as he remembered from this time; dressed in purple and green, with her black hair flowing freely over her shoulders.

Batman stood firmly in her way, arms crossed over his chest, and looked at her with a certain wariness. He had had many romantic relationships over the years, but somehow, he kept coming back to Selina. By now, he thought that she was probably the only one that he might be able to share a future with.

In his own time, he trusted her, if not implicitly. She could very well go behind his back to steal or do something that he would not agree with. But he trusted her with his life, his personal secrets, and with his family.

Still, there were no denying that in his past – in this time – Catwoman's actions had put both himself and Robin in jeopardy. More than once.

"No bird to chirp in our ears tonight, Batman?"

"Hnh."

"Word on the street is that the kid was hurt. I suppose it is true, then."

He fixed her with his stare and inclined his head slowly. Catwoman took a breath, her posture became rigid, and she hesitated before speaking again.

"Not – too bad?"

"No."

As quickly as if she had never been tensely waiting for an answer, she was all playful flirting.

"Then perhaps tonight's game is hide and seek, away from innocent children's eyes."

"I suppose you're here to steal Horace Braham's cat's-eye jewels, Catwoman. He lives right in this building, after all."

"… It's not like the man will go hungry.

"Go home. I've put you in jail before; I will do it again," he stated matter-of-factly.

"A warning, handsome?"

"An observation."

She tilted her head with a half-smile, half-pout.

"You're no fun tonight…"

"No," he agreed. "Go home."

Neither of them moved from their position, and it briefly crossed his mind that he could build a new kind of family here, with Selina. But he wasn't ready for a relationship, while he was rebuilding his life in unfamiliar surroundings. Most importantly, he couldn't do anything to risk Damian's existence. If he weren't going to take Jason and Tim into his home, he would at least do everything he could to get Damian.

Eventually, Catwoman shrugged slowly and gave him a last smile.

"There will be more nights, Batman; perhaps you will be in a better mood then. Say hello to the little birdie for me."

* * *

 _Golden age Catwoman shows a serious lack of imagination when it comes to stealing cat-themed stuff. I couldn't find any story to use in this fic. She was after Horace Braham's cat's-eye jewels, though, in DC # 203._

 _As compensation for_ that _I didn't manage to find a suitable story, I've put together a Tumblr post with Catwoman costumes from the Golden, Silver and Bronze Age. As well as a cool Cat Woman dress I found at an exhibition at the V &A recently. _

_Also, I'm not reading Heroes in Crisis, and I'm probably not doing it until the next reboot when certain Titans are back alive or something, but I did take some inspiration for Batman's introspective musings from # 2. The relevant page is on my Tumblr._

 _tumblr com / blog /_ northoftheroad


	35. Chapter 35

"You hold the yawara stick like this, Dick. I'm no expert in yawarajutsu myself, but if you're interested, we'll find you a teacher."

"I don't know, Bruce… It seems like a pair of brass knuckles would be easier to handle. At least, I wouldn't be afraid to lose it."

Well, Bruce wasn't one to turn down a chance when he got it served on a plate, adorned with watercress.

"… We could reinforce the knuckles of your gloves. Only the knuckles, and nothing too heavy," he hastily added when he saw Dick scrunch his nose, "to give you a bit more of a punch without hindering your movements."

"I guess we could give it a try…"

"Good. Anyway, if the yawara is out, how do you feel about the staffs?"

"The bo is good for fighting, but it seems awkward to carry around," Dick said, thoughtfully giving the longer staff a swing. "Perhaps if you could make it… you know, collapsible, kind of like a telescope?"

An unbidden image of Tim, training with his collapsible bo, flashed in Bruce's mind; he resolutely forced it away. Tim wouldn't need to learn to fight for his life, this time.

"I'm sure we can if you decide on a bo or a han-bo," he said, after the short pause when his thoughts were elsewhere. "What do you think about the bola or the Japanese chain?"

"If it's for snaring people, I can do that with a batarang and line already."

"True. But Ninjas uses the chain for hand-to-hand fighting too."

The boy's gaze moved over to the Philippine rattan sticks.

"Eskrima sticks."

"… Yes."

"I guess they're a good size. Small enough to carry around as they are. I haven't tried eskrimas since... since that time with Shrike."

That was one period that Bruce did not like to think about, and from the slight strain in Dick's voice, the feeling was mutual. It did bother him, that Nightwing's preferred weapon had even a remote connection to that time.

He tried to keep his voice neutral when he spoke.

"They do give you a wider range and a harder punch. You're supposed to hold them about a fist length above the end; that way you can use the end for butting techniques. The same as you would use the yawara. "

"I know."

Bruce opened his mouth point out that the batons could be made to work as tasers, but quickly shut it again. It would seem he was already well on the way to convince Dick to start using his future favourite weapon, years in advance. He had to leave the boy the chance to come up with different improvements by himself.

"You don't have to decide on anything right this moment, but if you do settle for eskrima sticks, we will get you a good teacher. I've looked around, and there is a reputable Philippine martial arts school in New York."

Dick cocked his head.

"Have you checked out schools for all these weapons...?"

"... Just a few."

"I could hardly go as Dick Grayson... Or commute."

"I'm sure we can arrange an intensive course during a few weekends. And you don't doubt my ability to set up a false identity, do you?"

Dick snorted.

"Let's see... I'll be Antony, after "Mad" Anthony Wayne who was a general during the war of independence. And you'll be Thomas, my son. Anthony and Thomas... How about Cameron, after old Cameron Kane? Anthony and Thomas Cameron."

That coaxed the flash of a smile out of the boy. Content, Bruce decided to move on to training.

"Come on, chum; I challenge you to a duel. Pick your weapon."

Dick pursed his lips as he looked over the selection and finally picked up the han-bo, spinning it experimentally.

Bruce, who had fully expected the boy to pick the eskrimas, took the batons for himself and said, "I didn't think you were interested in carrying around a staff."

"I'm probably not. But I should give them a try before I put them aside."

After several rounds, when the duo had used different combinations of weapons against each other, Bruce stepped away from the training mattress and tossed the chain weapon back on the table.

"Good work. We'll continue another day but let's get started with the suit."

A slight frown passed over Dick's face – it was evident that he was still not enthusiastic about having to change his suit – but he obeyed and put his weapons back on the table. He had tried most of the weapons that Bruce had offered; he worked best with the bo and eskrima, but the shorter sticks were better suited to his airborne form of fighting.

Dick put on a sweater to keep the chilly cave air at bay and slowly walked over to the mannequin with the unfinished Robin suit. He took his time, walked around it and stared until he finally turned towards Bruce with lifted eyebrows.

"Why is the cape black on the outside?"

"You need to be less visible."

"So, how come you aren't pushing me into a completely black cape? It's still yellow on the inside."

"I thought you wouldn't like that."

The boy continued to stare at the suit a while before he muttered something about boots and returned to his questions.

"Red shoelaces, Bruce… Why?"

It took Bruce a few seconds to get his mouth in order for that one.

"Just a whim… It reminds me of someone…"

Dick gave him a sceptical look.

"Who? You've never mentioned anyone with green boots and red shoelaces. No one on the League has it, and I don't know where else you would come across clothes like that."

"Said the boy who insists on using traffic light colours," Bruce teased and ruffled his hair.

But Dick didn't take the bait. He kept looking between the mannequin and his guardian, furrowing his brow more and more.

"Are you trying to make me into a copy of someone else?"

"… What do you mean, Dick?"

"All of a sudden, you have these preconceptions of what Robin should be like. Fight with some kind of stick weapon, black and yellow cape, reinforced knuckles… And red shoelaces; it's such a weird detail, I can't see you coming up with that one on yourself."

He should have known better than to let his feelings on nostalgia seep in when he chose the boots, Bruce thought wryly.

"Robin is mine, Bruce," Dick said, with his chin stubbornly jutted forward and looking his mentor straight the eyes. "I didn't choose to be Batboy or Batlad or Kid Bat or whatever. I choose Robin. I'm not going to let someone else shape what Robin should be."

Bruce blinked in surprise. He certainly had misjudged the strength of Dicks possessive feelings regarding Robin; it suddenly made a lot more sense why Dick had been so angry with him for passing the name on to Jason without asking.

He opened his mouth to reassure the boy, but closed it again, hesitating over what to say. A feeling in his gut told him that it was crucial to get it right; he could be well on his way to make or break their relationship with his answer.

Meanwhile, Dick crossed his arms and continued to stare at his guardian, furrows between his eyebrows. Bruce needed to have a good answer, or the boy might lose all confidence in him.

He crossed the distance between them with a few, slow steps, stopped in front of Dick and put both his hands on the boy's shoulders, looking down at the stern little face.

"Dick. I promise you that Robin is all yours. I do understand what it means to you, and it's your legacy to build."

The boy met his eyes straight on, still with a stubborn set around his mouth.

For all his training in keeping his body under control, Bruce could feel his heartbeat pick up when he wondered if he had said enough; if he had said the right thing. But then Dick's stance loosened and his face relaxed; not into a smile, but at least into someone who trusted the adult in front of him.

Should he take the chance to say something about a future relationship between them as father and son, not only mentor and protégée… This was as close to a heart to heart he was likely to get, without a long, awkward prelude, after all.

But no – he didn't want to raise any false hopes. If Dick wanted to be adopted, and he couldn't go through with it in the foreseeable future, it would make the situation awkward and risk upsetting the boy.

But he could say something, to reassure him…

"Believe me, I don't want you to be anyone else but the best Dick Grayson you could possibly be. That will always be enough for me."

He hoped for an answer, a sign that Dick understood. But the boy tore his eyes from Bruce and stared down at the floor, pressing his lips together.

He found himself wondering what Dick would have done… What Dick had done, to reassure Damian about his place in the family.

Better than Bruce, no doubt; he thought with a mental sigh and straightened up. As an afterthought, he ruffled his boy's hair.

"How about we get back to your suit. As I said, you can shape it as you want. As long as you're well protected. And it's a bit darker. So you can hide in the shadows when you need."

He would have expected Dick to have a quick retort to that, but the boy took his time, letting his eyes flicker between Bruce and the mannequin. But after a while, he took a deep breath and answered in a controlled voice.

"Hiding in the shadows is your schtick; not mine."

"It's not like you've never done it before, chum."

"Hmh."

The boy kept looking guardedly between the mannequin and his mentor.

Bruce felt his patience wear thin; he had never imagined it would be this difficult to get Dick Grayson, of all people, to let his imagination loose. Future Dick had designed several different versions of the Robin and Nightwing suits, and Bruce would be willing to bet a month's wage that he had had something to do with the red shoelaces of Damian's Robin suit.

Not that Bruce Wayne actually earned a wage, but it was the principle of the thing.

But, truth be told, he knew nothing about what mood Dick had been in when he made the first Nightwing suit. He hadn't been around to see that, after all. Bruce had made damn sure that Dick wouldn't want to stay in his proximity after he had been fired as Robin. And neither had he been there to see Dick adjust to the Batsuit.

There was a difference between choosing change, and being forced into it, he reminded himself.

Losing his patience would accomplish nothing except making everything more difficult than it had to be. But perhaps he could make the boy relax by appealing to his keen sense of humour.

"Have you done any sketches? I bet you would have enjoyed seeing my first ideas about how the Bat-man should look; too bad I threw them away, out of embarrassment."

"Really?" Dick sounded vaguely curious.

"Mhm!" Bruce leaned closer to talk into the boy's ear and lowered his voice.

"Promise not to tell anyone, but I was thinking about something in red. No cowl. And the cape was supposed to stick out like two batwings. I thought it looked so dramatic, but Alfred took one look on my sketch and asked how I was planning to walk through the door. And did I mention it was going to be red?"

"… No way!"

Bruce straightened and ruffled Dick's hair again.

"I told you it was embarrassing, didn't I"

"Hey! Nothing wrong with a little red!"

"It is if you're trying to look like a scary bat, chum."

"There are red bats, you know. Furry and really cute."

Bruce chuckled.

"If I'm ever going for the cute look, I'll be sure to remember that."

Dick laughed – an honest-to-god laugh that echoed around the cave, and Bruce hadn't felt this at home in weeks.

The boy turned back to the mannequin and threw his arms out.

"Since you're a stubborn… sort of a guy, and I suppose I'm not getting out of the long legs and arms…"

Dick paused to give Bruce a look.

"You're right, I am! And no, you're not. And you're going to thank me, one day!"

"Can't blame a guy for trying…" Dick said, shrugging, and looked back at the mannequin with something less than enthusiasm.

He cocked his head to one side and then the other and pursed his lips, deep in thought. Eventually, she shrugged again.

"I guess it'll have to be a green covering suit and a red vest with that additional kevlar you're so into. But no boots. Absolutely no heavy boots! There is a reason parkour shoes are shoes, after all. And… It needs some yellow, too."

"Dick. Nothing "needs" some yellow."

"Says the guy who's been wearing a yellow belt for years…"

"Hnh."

"Of course it needs to pick up the yellow from the cape. Which is not going to be as long as you've made it, by the way. A few yellow accents... Perhaps piping around the vest… Along some seams… Like here, from the shoulder down to the hand, that could be cool…"

"It also "needs" better protection on your upper arms. Otherwise, something could go straight into the chest and clavicle through there."

"What I really, really need is to be able to raise my arms, you know! Not get stuck in the armhole of my own suit."

"We can use small pieces of kevlar plates and saw them together, so they're flexible. And we'll make sure the vest isn't too tight around the arm."

"Mmm. Like modern chainmail, you mean…?"

"Hmh."

"I suppose that could work…"

Dick turned and gave Bruce a stern look.

"The vest absolutely cannot be made of huge kevlar panels, like you've done it, Bruce! There is no way I'm going to be able to fight in something as stiff as that!"

"Don't worry. With the softer base and smaller kevlar plates, it won't feel much different from your leather vest – at least, when the leather was still new."

Dick frowned and then raised his eyebrows.

"How would you know? You've never worn one, have you?"

Darn. He really needed to keep his mouth shut… It was a good thing he was still a good liar.

"I've come across some experimental protective clothing, so I have an idea what we can accomplish."

Dick cocked his head and considered, but didn't pursue the subject.

"Why don't you get a paper block from the desk, Dick, and start sketching. The sooner we can show Alfred what you want, the sooner it will get ready."

"'Kay."

Dick took the few steps to the desk and sat down, alternately staring at the mannequin and at the blank paper. After a few minutes and some biting on the pencil, he started to sketch.

Bruce lingered close to the desk but decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. There would be opportunities, later on, to make sure the armour was satisfactory and point out how difficult it would be to sew piped seams along sleeves made of Nomex, or whatever the lines running from shoulder to middle fingers were supposed to be.

And when Dick refused to see reason, he would just have to call in Alfred…

* * *

 _Not that I expect anyone to remember and notice, but I've edited a sentence in the last chapter because I changed my mind about the next upcoming chapter._

 _"Mad" Antony Wayne is from World's Finest Comics # 186 when Superman and Batman travel back in time (by Bob Kanigher, art Ross Andru and Mike Esposito). Cameron Kane is, from what I can find with the help of Google, Bruces's great-several-times-over-grandfather. And of course, Bruce proposes to name Dick after his own father, Thomas Wayne, to endear himself to Dick._

 _In Batman and Robin vol 2, # 8, Bruce said to Damian: "You're my son. All I want you to be is the best Damian Wayne you can be." (By Peter Tomasi, art Patrick Gleason and Mick Gray)._

 _In the Golden age, Bruce was actually capable of saying the L-word to Dick's face. He has been known to be able to force out the word "son", too..._

 _Bob Kane's original design for Batman was a red jumpsuit with black wings (sorry, cape) and trunks. Let's all be grateful for Bill Finger, who gave us the grey and black version with a mysterious cowl and also was instrumental in the creation of Robin, the Boy Wonder (co-created by Jerry Robinson), the Batmobile and other wonderful stuff._

 _Since we all know that it's never been true that Dick was well into his teenage years when he became Robin (and we did see the original Robin suit in the Batcave in Batman # 56), it makes sense that Dick used the original suit when he was little, and progressed to the New 52 suit after a few years._

 _I kind of wish I could explain away the New 52 suit altogether, because I'm not a great fan – of all the Robin suits after Flashpoint, I think Dick's is the one that looks least like the original, which makes no sense at all (though I think it borrows a bit from Earth-Two Dick's adult Robin suit, which borrowed quite a lot from a Neal Adams design)._

Bonus _feature of the week: A list of Dick's Robin suits from different media and ages._

 _Talking about the original Robin suit, Jerry Robinson claims he took some inspiration from N C Wyeth's Robin Hood illustrations for Dick's suit._

 _And what do you think – is the blue over the knuckles on the most recent Nightwing suit is some kind of reinforcement, like in-built brass knuckles?_

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	36. Chapter 36

"I was thinking; I'd like to take the bike into Gotham, today," Dick announced over breakfast.

Bruce's forehead furrowed. His gut aversion to letting the boy go by himself hadn't waned in the weeks he had been here. Weeks… It was over a month, by now.

"Where do you want to go?"

Dick glanced under his bangs – that visit to a hairdresser was way overdue.

"The library."

"Why? Don't we have a perfectly adequate collection of books here?"

"Not for what I wanted… School starts in a few weeks, and I've got a few things I should look into."

"You've got an assignment over summer break?"

Dick shrugged and looked down at his scrambled eggs.

"Not an assignment, as such. Just something I know is coming up, and I want to prepare. I thought I'd look at some of the books we're going to read, too. It's not the same as the stuff you're giving me, after all. For some reason, forensic hasn't made the curriculum yet."

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Something was definitely off in the way Dick was telling it – he hadn't yet learned to be quite as accomplished a lier as he was as an adult – but it might just be that the boy wanted to get out of the Manor. He had sneaked out as Robin only a few days before, but Dick Grayson had been pretty cooped up for several weeks.

"I could do with a trip to the office. I'll give you a lift and pick you up when you're ready."

"You don't need to trouble yourself, Bruce. I don't know how long I'll be…"

"Nonsense. The rain is hanging in the air; I don't want you to get wet. And I don't have any meetings scheduled; I can pick you up any time. We might even have time for ice cream or something on the way back."

The proposition didn't get the immediate happy response Bruce would have expected, but after thinking a few seconds, Dick nodded and gave him a smile that was genuine enough.

"… Sure, that'd be nice."

They took off after the rush hour had passed, and Bruce was secretly relieved about the grey clouds and the chilly winds since the boy brought one of the jackets that had a tracker sewn into it. With one tracker in the phone and one in the jacket, he wouldn't lose sight of Dick.

After leaving Dick outside one of the largest libraries in the city, close to Gotham University, he drove on to Wayne Enterprises. On the way to his office, he opened his app to check that the trackers were functional; and right enough, he could see two dots close to each other on the Gotham map. He put the phone in his pocket and started thinking about what he should make his priorities during the next few hours.

He found himself swept up in work; reading papers, making calls, e-mail and impromptu meetings. It was almost three in the afternoon, while he was waiting for Lucius Fox to come by and talk about the Canadian deal, when he realised the day had passed and he hadn't heard from Dick.

Not that the boy hadn't taken school seriously, but a whole day at the library and passing up on a chance to have lunch in town or ice cream… That was unexpected, Bruce thought and opened the app on his phone to check on the boy's location.

A wave of cold shot through his body when he realised that the dots from Dick's trackers were far apart. The one connected with his mobile was still at the library; the other signal was moving along the outskirts of Port Adams.

Bruce didn't even know how he got to his feet. He was standing on the other side of his office, hearing Dick's phone go straight to voicemail while the thought "this never happened, this never happened" kept circling in his head, when firm knocks on the door announced that Lucius had arrived.

He couldn't very well pretend he wasn't in…

"Come."

"Hello, Bruce, you're giving us ideas…" Lucius started saying with a smile, but he stopped himself and looked with a frown at his boss.

"What's wrong?"

So much for his poker face… He couldn't make too big a deal of what was going on. Someone could have stolen Dick's jacket, after all. Surely he would have known if there had been a scheme to kidnap Dick at this time… But there was no way he could hide that he was rattled; a half-truth would have to do.

"I forgot to pick Dick up, and now I can't reach him on the phone. It's probably nothing, he's at the library, and the phone should be on mute, but I'm eager to get there."

"Of course. We can have a telephone conference later…?"

"Not necessary. I've looked over the documents. Everything seems in order, except to make sure the companies we're dealing with have a clean record when it comes to environmental and labour issues. We don't want any hassle with environmentalist or the union. And make sure they're not involved in any battle over land claims. As soon as we've got an all clear on that, I say we go for it," Bruce said.

He caught a surprised look on Lucius' face and stopped for a moment, raising his eyebrows.

"Anything wrong?"

"Uh… No, no, I completely agree. You're not normally as blunt as that, especially when it comes to social responsibility issues, that's all. As a matter of fact, I've already asked for a complete report on those particular issues, and I expect to get it in a day or two. But I can tell you're stressed; I'll make sure everything is clean and press on, shall I?"

"Please do. Thank you, Lucius," Bruce said, managing a quick smile on his way to the door.

"Of course… And Bruce…!"

"Hm?"

"Let me know when you've found him, will you?"

"I will," Bruce promised as he rushed through the door.

Halfway down to the car he realised he had forgotten to bring the suitcase with a spare Batsuit he had hidden in the office. He stopped for a second, undeciding, but soon continued on his way. If something really had happened, time was of the essence, after all. If he had to, Bruce Wayne wasn't a complete pushover.

He started the car and took another look at the tracker app. The moving dot had left Port Adams and was heading west on one of the smaller streets inside Fashion District.

It was certainly strange that the mobile was in the library while the jacket was moving. He would have expected the boy to hang on to his phone before the jacket. Perhaps the piece of clothing had been stolen, after all.

He swallowed. But if someone had grabbed Dick, it made sense for them to leave the phone behind, since everyone knew it could be used to trace him.

He took another look and forced himself to think logically. The tracker signal wasn't moving fast enough to be in a car… Unless there was an unexpected traffic jam, the reasonable explanation was that the person – probably Dick – was walking. Of course, you could walk with a gun against your back, he reminded himself, pressing his lips together and gripping the steering wheel harder.

If he drove between Old Gotham and Diamond District and headed north, he should be able to cut off whoever was wearing the jacket soon enough.

By the time Bruce had reached the upper part of Fashion District, the dot was passing the bridge over to the Narrows. The pace suggested that the person had started to jog, rather than walk.

Bruce swiftly calculated the fastest route. If there had been a decent place to park the car, he would have caught up quicker by foot. As it were, he had to navigate one-way lanes and dead ends. After some deliberation, he decided to drive further west and take one of the streets that passed the Narrows, to cut Dick off on whatever alley he took over the island.

As expected, the car took him over to the west side of the Narrows ahead of the tracker signal which was moving at a, by now, slow pace along the northern shore. He turned right, stopped the car on the road the dot was moving along and stepped out.

A few minutes later he spotted his ward; Dick was alternating between looking up at the houses around him and taking notes in a notebook. No one was following him, no one was threatening him…

Bruce closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing; his feelings were warring between relief and anger. What the hell was Dick up to… He had evidently meant to sneak out; otherwise, the mobile wouldn't be at the library.

Dick continued to stroll along; it was obvious when he finally noticed his guardian. The boy stopped in his tracks and stared with wide eyes across the street at Bruce who was standing with his arms crossed and as neutral a face as he could manage. After a few seconds, Dick shrugged, crossed the street and walked up to his guardian with a cautious look.

"Bruce."

Bruce jerked his head against the car.

"Hop in. We'll get your things at the library and head home."

Dick stayed where he was, with a slight frown and cocking his head to one side.

"How did you know where I was."

"We'll talk later."

"I don't have my phone… No way! You didn't, did you? You totally did! You've got a tracker somewhere on me!"

"In the car, Dick."

"Where is it?!"

"Later. Please."

Dick glared at him, angrily pushed his notebook in a pocket and started walking towards the car. He opened his mouth as to say something but closed it again, pressing his lips tightly together.

Bruce followed him, feeling more tired than angry. Dick hadn't broken any outright promise, after all. Sneaking out from the library to take a walk in Gotham in broad daylight wasn't exactly courting danger. But they still had an unpleasant conversation ahead of them.

He drove silently to the library and stopped in front.

"I suppose your phone is in a locker?"

"Yes."

"Get it, and we'll head home."

Dick left the car, slamming the door a bit too hard, and rushed up the stairs. He slowed his steps on top when a girl with long, red hair exited the library. She smiled and held the door for him, and Bruce could see his ward plaster on a smile for her and saying a few words before he disappeared inside. Barbara Gordon glanced after the boy before she continued down the steps.

Bruce stepped out of the car; his eyes fixed on the young girl that had been one of his closest allies before everything changed. But here and now, they were only acquaintances. He leaned against the car and arranged his features into a relaxed smile.

"Hello, Barbara!"

Barbara walked up to the car with a smile.

"Mr Wayne! So Dick is getting ready for school, too! I saw him earlier, looking through some books."

Bruce nodded with what he thought was a jovial expression.

"School will be good for him. I think he's getting fed up with only me and Alfred for company. How's your father?"

"He's well, thank you. He mentioned he met you the other day when the Scarecrow was on the loose."

"Mhm. It was… an interesting day. Are you on your way home? Can we offer you a lift?"

Barbara's hair waved around her shoulders when she shook her head.

"Thanks, I'm fine. I'm meeting a friend on the way."

"All right. Give my best to your father; I hope I'll see him under more peaceful circumstances soon."

When Barbara walked away, he took out his mobile to send a quick text to Lucius and call Alfred. Since they had skipped lunch – at least, Bruce had, and he was fairly certain Dick wouldn't have eaten anything substantial – and they were going to a reception in the evening, some kind of food would be welcome.

Shortly, Dick exited the library and Bruce stepped back into the car. He drove away as soon as Dick had strapped in.

The trip home was silent. Neither of them seemed prepared to start the discussion that would, inevitably, end in an angry confrontation. Dick was mad, that much was clear – and Bruce wasn't exactly thrilled with his ward's actions either.

"Alfred has made us something to eat. We've got a function tonight, but we'll need something before that," he said as he parked the car in front of the Manor. "We'll eat in peace and talk after, all right?"

Dick made a low grunt, of acceptance as far as Bruce could tell, and got out of the car.

* * *

 _Barbara has a very small cameo here. As far as I know, Dick and Barbara being friends at school is an (animated) Young Justice thing, and while I very much like the show this is not that universe, so they are not close here. The only Batgirl around in the Golden age was Betty Kane, after all, but as I've said before, I don't think that has survived into current canon._

Bonus _of the week: Variations of Dick Grayson's and Robin's origin story._

 _Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	37. Chapter 37

"Do you want to tell me why you left your phone in the library when you left?"

Dick looked at him – so far not with the anger Bruce was expecting but collected and detached as if Bruce wasn't important.

"… You want to tell me why you're tracking my every movement?"

"Dick…"

It didn't take much to ignite the boy's temper, after all. The calm demeanour quickly morphed into anger.

"No, I'm serious! Where is it? I swear, I'll burn the whole outfit if I have to… But that's not even going to be enough, is it? If you've bugged one piece, you've probably bugged everything."

"I don't have any bugs on you…"

"Yeah, right."

"There is a tracker, so I can find you if anything happens. I promise I don't have anything that I can use to listen in to you…"

"Tell me where it is, or I'll go to a charity shop and get rid of everything, every time I go out."

Dick was stubborn enough to do it if his temper flared; Bruce did not doubt that. He thought about all the times in his future when he had been terrified by not knowing where one of the kids were. And the times when he had been too late to prevent things from happening…

He was not going to let Dick run around without a way to locate him. If the boy only could understand that it wasn't about control, it was about keeping him safe.

How come there were words that refused to pass his vocal cord? He could think it all right – "I love you, I'm terrified to lose you" – but it was like a brick wall between his brain and his mouth that prevented him from speaking them out loud.

There had been a time when it had been easier for him to voice his feelings. When he was younger, when Dick was this age… before Jason's death.

"Dick," he tried. "Do you realise how worried I am when I can't find you?"

Twenty-something Dick Grayson would accept that, to a point. Preteen Dick Grayson, who lived in a more peaceful Gotham and who had yet to lose a friend or family member because help arrived too late, was not impressed.

"Why would you need to find me? You left me at the library; you would have picked me up at the library. Why would you even think something could happen?"

"… Be fair, Dick – you left."

Dick pressed his mouth together and didn't answer.

"… I wasn't supposed to know, I get it," Bruce sighed.

That got Dick fired up again.

"Why should you know? I have a right to talk a walk in Gotham without you knowing exactly where I am! You wouldn't even let me take my bike downtown for a few hours."

Bruce chose his next words carefully.

"You're right; you do have a right to privacy. But I'm responsible for you, and I have a right to know where you are, too. We'll have to find common ground."

Dick snorted.

"Right… And your idea of common ground is to plant trackers on people in secret…"

"Why did you leave the library? I take it you left your phone behind because you knew I could trace the signal."

"Hnh."

"You knew there was a chance I would call you. How would you explain that you didn't pick up?"

Dick rolled his eyes.

"You're not supposed to take calls in the library," he pointed out, clearly thinking that Bruce was behaving as if he'd never set foot in a public library.

"Barbara said she saw you reading."

"I did look at some books I needed. I took photos of the pages; that way I can read any time."

"… Okay. Why did you leave?"

"I just wanted to walk around the city, all right! I wasn't even going to climb the rooftops or anything; I just wanted to look around."

"You had a notebook with you. What are you planning."

"…."

"Dick…"

"It's for school. I didn't lie," the boy murmured.

"I didn't think you did," he replied, not feeling up to the discussion about lies by emission at the moment.

He waited in silence. Dick had already started to confess; he felt sure the boy would continue. And after less than a minute, his patience was rewarded.

"… The school is planning to let my grade make a movie, next term. Anyone who wants can write a script, and one of them will be picked. I wanted to look around for possible locations. It would have been much simpler on my bike…"

Bruce took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. Half an hour of intense stress and fear, all because of the boy wanted to write a story…

"Why couldn't you tell me? I could have taken you in the car. Hell, I could have walked with you; it even sounds safe enough that I would let you go on your own. Why, Dick?"

Dick seemed to struggle with his words.

"I… I didn't want to say anything… In case my script wasn't picked, okay? It would be a nice surprise if the school decided to make my film."

He closed his eyes and felt a wave of sadness. Dick had always been eager to make him proud and afraid to disappoint him – that's why he had wanted to keep the assignment to himself. If his work weren't picked, Bruce would never know.

How could the boy feel so insecure about their relationship, when raising him was one of the few things Bruce was proud of…

He remembered it now – how it had happened, the last time. Dick's joyful smile when he told Bruce and Alfred that his script had been chosen, his juggling of two identities while the movie was made, how the criminal The Clock and his gang had become involved, and the boy's pride when they went together to see the finished film…

No wonder he didn't remember anything like this happening – at this time of their life, he had let Dick come and go as he pleased, with no way to keep an eye on him.

"…God, Dick, you almost gave me a heart attack when I realised your jacket wasn't in the same place as your phone. You should have told me you were working on a secret; I'll accept that."

"Hnh. Really?"

There were no mistaking the scepticism in Dick's voice; fair enough, Bruce had to admit.

"I promise. If you ever find yourself in a similar position, tell me where you want to go, and that it's about something you want to keep secret. I trust you to know the limits of what you can keep for yourself. If it's safe, you can go on your own. All right?"

"… All right."

"Or you can go to Alfred. He wouldn't betray your confidence over something like this."

"Yeah, I know," Dick said in a low voice.

The boy was reasonable enough. Bruce had to give him something in return.

"For the record, I've put a tracker in your wristwatch. And one in your phone."

"My phone?!"

"As I said, a tracker," Bruce insisted, "I can't see or hear what you're doing, it's just so that I can locate you quicker than with the GPS."

Dick huffed in annoyance and looked at Bruce with narrow eyes.

"You're really something else, Bruce… But I wasn't wearing my watch – where was the other tracker?"

"Your jacket," Bruce replied. "I will tell you where I've put trackers in your clothes. As long as you promise not to get rid of them to hide from me."

Dick took his time answering.

"I don't know, Bruce," he finally said. "I'm not sure that's a promise I can keep."

At least, the boy was honest. Bruce fully intended to keep his word and tell the truth about where he had put trackers in Dick's clothes so far, but he had better keep silent about further plans. Time would have to tell if it was safe to disclose everything. But first, he had to coax his boy to make the promise.

"Why? It's simple enough. Unless you don't trust me?"

Dick's forehead wrinkled.

"You know I trust you. With my life. But you have given me plenty of reasons lately not to trust that you trust me."

Bruce certainly didn't have a good track record when it came to supporting and letting his boy go as he grew up. Now that he had a second chance, he was damned if he wasn't going to find a way to balance his need to protect with Dick's need for independence.

"Dick. I'll be blunt. You do realise you are the heir to one of the largest fortunes in America. You could be a tempting target for kidnappers. I think I am justified to ensure that I can locate you if anything were to happen."

"What…You've never said anything about that before… Has anything happened?"

"No. I didn't mean to scare you," Bruce said hastily.

Dick was depressingly accustomed to being held hostage as Robin – but it would be a different thing if he were ever to be taken as Dick Grayson. To hide behind a professional persona, a persona who was able to fight back, did undoubtedly give a sense of security that civilian Dick Grayson would lack.

In the lifetime Bruce remembered, it had never happened. But it was already evident that his return had changed things – who knew what could occur in this future.

"But I'm sorry to say it is a risk you will always live with."

Dick frowned and chewed on his lip, clearly trying to get his head around this new perspective. Bruce took the chance to drive home his point.

"I really won't use the trackers to monitor you, Dick. As long as you tell me where you're going, and keep in contact if you for some reason won't make it back in time, I promise not to check on your location unless I have a solid reason."

Dick snorted.

"Come on, Bruce. These days, I think you'd argue that 'I worried' was a solid reason…"

Oh yes, the kid was perceptive, all right…

"I won't worry if you give Alfred or me a call, regularly, when you're out of our sight."

Dick's eyes narrowed.

"I already do that, and obviously that's not enough for you."

"… And what do you call your leaving the library without your phone?"

It might not have been his most brilliant move to bring that up again – Dick's was growing agitated once more.

"We've been over that. If you'd trusted me to go to Gotham on my own, it wouldn't have happened."

"All right," Bruce said calmly. "We don't need to retake the argument full circle. I understand why you did it, and you didn't break any promise."

Indeed, he had never asked Dick to promise not to leave his phone behind at this age. It had never occurred to him that there was any need for that.

"But I need to know that you will keep your phone with you in the future and that you will not dispose of my trackers. Will you promise?"

Dick pursed his lips, and he cocked his head before he answered, slowly, "No, I don't think I will. Not now. I need to think some more about it. I won't leave my phone again, but I'm not sure I'm prepared to be a… walking signal station."

Bruce let his hand fall on the boy's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze.

"… All right. We'll talk about it in a few days."

Dick was relenting, he was sure; as soon as his temper had cooled, he would see reason and make the promise. It wasn't ideal to end the discussion without having reached an agreement, but Bruce was sure it would only hurt his position if he pressed on.

Besides, he felt exhausted. How could it be more demanding to talk to a child than to fight a warehouse full of criminals…?

In just a couple of hours, he would need to head out for the evening – not as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne, billionaire socialite. With his youthful ward in tow. And getting Dick ready for the party, with tuxedo and bowtie and cufflinks – complete with a tracker installed, of course – was a whole different kettle of fish than getting Robin ready for a night on the town.

"I'm going to take a shower and take it easy for a while. I suggest you do the same. We're going to the Governor's reception tonight, and we don't want to turn up looking as if we're worn out before the party has even started."

* * *

 _Dick was indeed up to something, in the last chapter, and that something is from the Golden age I'm so fond of. He wrote a movie script for his school, in Star Spangled Comics # 70 from 1947. "Clocks of Doom" by Bill Finger, art Win Mortimer and Charles Paris._

 _The last time Bruce comments on how difficult it was for him to let Dick go was in Nightwing vol 4 # 7._

 _It did cross my mind whether Bruce should take a cue from Bruce in the Titans show (that I still haven't seen). But operating in a chip in Dick's arm, without letting him know, and then locking him out of safe houses is more of an asshole that I'm willing to put up with. So he'll stick with clothes. And equipment. And anything else he can get his hands on without bloodshed…_

 _Every Dick Grayson fan knows that time when Bruce was quoted on saying "The only time I ever feel pride is when I look at Nightwing. Sometimes I think he's the only thing I ever did right." In JLA # 73._

 _And of course Dick is dressed like a miniature Bruce on receptions and grand parties:_

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes on my Tumblr: northoftheroad_


	38. Chapter 38

Bruce still hadn't been out on a lot of social affairs since coming back to this time, and on the way into the grand hotel for the night's function, he went over his "Brucie" act in his head. Light flirting but nothing serious, gulping down colourless drinks that looked like gin and tonic, talking about his polo matches – which was a nuisance, because he hadn't actually played polo in years – lots of "y'know" and perhaps even one or two "oopsie", the occasional bragging about Dick's school grades…

That should cover the essentials.

He could have left Dick home for the evening. But the truth was that the boy who was presently trailing a meter after Bruce, dressed as a miniature copy of his guardian, would be a good excuse if he for some reason needed to leave in a hurry. Mumbling something about "bedtime" was a sure way to solicit understanding smiles among the other guests – as long as he didn't say it within earshot of Dick himself. For all that the preteen knew that bedtime was usually an excuse for something more exciting, he didn't always appreciate being treated as the kid that he was; that would go double now when he was grounded.

They slowly made their way through the large room, Bruce nodding and exchanging a few words every other step, when he suddenly heard the giggle of a young child. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice, and he glanced around. Halfway across the room, he spotted a very young Tim Drake sitting on his father's shoulders.

Something in his heart melted; Timmy was so young, so small, and looked happy to spend an evening with his parents.

Once again, Bruce promised himself he was going to find a way to get through to the Drakes so that they took better care of their son. He would grow up to have other interests than stalking Batman and Robin – and since Jason was not going to get killed as Robin, Tim would never have a reason to volunteer himself for the colourful suit.

If the boy still wanted to learn how to be a detective from Batman as an adult, that would be a completely different thing.

Timmy kept looking around curiously but suddenly, his gaze stopped at something, and his eyes widened in excitement. Bruce followed Tim's look with a sneaking suspicion – and sure enough, it was Dick who was the object of his fascination. No doubt he remembered meeting the older boy at the circus.

Bruce might almost believe that Tim already suspected that Dick was Robin. But surely, he was too young to be thinking about who Batman and Robin might be behind their masks. And had Robin's quadruple ever been caught on film, at this time?

That darned quadruple… Perhaps the best he could do would be to nudge Dick back into a circus ring; he was a born performer, after all.

He knew it wouldn't work; Dick was too committed to his new lifestyle, but it was nice to daydream for a moment.

Dick looked nowhere as excited as young Timmy for the function. Not surprisingly, since there appeared to be no-one his age to talk to, and he was too old to be expected to follow Bruce around all night. Still, it was all part of their act; Dick would at least be able to amuse himself for a while, studying and listening to people. And the dessert table alone would keep him occupied for quite some time.

"You can head over to the food, anytime you want, chum. Check in with me at least every half an hour, and we'll see how long we're staying. Oh, and start with some real food, before you ransack the dessert table."

"All right, Bruce," Dick agreed and drifted away from his guardian.

Bruce got himself a glass of something that looked enough like alcohol to fool the other guests and moved around with practised ease, exchanging pleasantries and silly jokes and the odd empty-headed smile when someone tried to talk about Wayne Enterprises with him. He was still supposed to be more of a playboy and a figurehead for his corporation, after all.

During his rounds, he spotted a familiar, blonde figure, deep in discussion with a group of Gotham business people. The Emerald Archer hadn't been on the League meeting that Bruce himself had visited and it was his first encounter with the man since his arrival in this time. Just like everyone else Bruce had come across from his past – no, future – the man looked younger and much more carefree than when they last met. He was an even less experienced guardian than Bruce, to Roy Harper and his alter ego Speedy, and he had yet to become as politically outspoken as he would be in a few years.

It was common knowledge that Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen were at least acquaintances; both as representatives of their respective family companies, and from moving in the same social circles, and he walked over to the little party.

"Sorry to barge in, ladies and gentlemen," he said in a loud voice as he drew close, "I just wanted to say hello to my old friend over there. Oliver!" he said, holding out his hand.

"Bruce," the visitor from Star City answered, shaking his hand.

As always, Bruce had to bite down a comment about the man's signature goatee – with only a minimal domino mask covering Green Arrow's secret identity it was a miracle that everyone and their aunt didn't realise that Oliver Queen was moonlighting as a vigilante.

"Not enough business opportunities in Star City?"

"Enough and some to spare, I suppose, but my board of directors insisted I take a look at some kind of metallurgy and polymer exhibition that's opening tomorrow…"

"Quite, quite. My research department has been nagging me about that one, too. A dashed bore, y'know," Bruce said, with an exaggerated eye-roll.

Of course, as non-powered vigilantes who relied upon equipment that they often made themselves, both he and Ollie had a keen interest in metal and polymer alloys and possibly finding new materials that could be used for arrows, batarangs, lines and other essentials.

"There are so much more interesting ways to spend your time," Ollie agreed, letting his eyes sweep around the room.

Oliver was actually an astute businessman when he wanted to – Bruce knew that from the future. But at this time, the archer was easily distracted, more interested in... other things.

"Congratulations on your latest conquest, by the way."

"…My… what?"

"My executive-something told me Queen Industries snapped up a contract from right under our noses, and LexCorps' too, just the other week."

"Oooh yes, so I heard. Something about a new type of helicopter engine. Damned if I know what it's all about, but they say it's the future… And hey, who am I to argue?"

"… Quite…."

"But one of the WE companies got the electronics contract for Central City, I'm told, so I guess you'll earn enough to cover your expenses next year, too."

"I might just scrape by… By the way, too bad you didn't bring your ward – Roy, was it? Poor Dick is bored out of his mind – somewhere around here," Bruce said, with a vague gesture over the room. "Take the kid with you next time; they can keep each other company."

"Right there, Bruce," said Ollie mildly, looking behind Bruce.

He glanced over his shoulder and right enough, Dick was standing there with a glass of soda in his hand and a look of patient boredom on his face. The boy was good at sneaking up on him, there was no denying that, and the general commotion in the room provided a good cover.

"Dick; you all right, son?"

"I'm fine, Bruce. It took me a while to find you among all the people. Hello, Mister Queen," said Dick, flashing a quick smile to the visitor from Star City.

"Hi there, Dick."

"Good, good," said Bruce and patted the boy on his shoulder, taking care to make it look as awkward as possible. "You can run along again; I'm sure you haven't emptied all the dishes yet. See you in another half hour."

"… Right, Bruce," said Dick, nodded at Oliver and turned and slipped away into the crowded room.

"Looking good," Ollie remarked, his eyes trailing after Dick.

The innocent remark threw Bruce for a loop. He had managed to keep the fabricated story of Dick's accident out of the media, probably mostly thanks to the summer break from school. On the other hand, he was fairly certain that it was common knowledge in the Justice League that Robin had been hurt. But most of the Leaguers hadn't disclosed their secret identities, and as far as he knew, Oliver didn't know who was hiding behind the Batman's cowl.

But when he met Oliver's eyes, he could see no sign that the man had guessed the secret. Bruce relaxed again; the man was probably only trying his hand at a paternal compliment to a fellow foster father.

"That he does," Bruce agreed. "But I admit I look forward to school starting again – it is rather exhausting, keeping an active kid occupied day after day. I haven't had time to look into a polo match for ages."

"Don't I know it," Oliver chuckled, "Roy is keeping me on my toes, too."

Satisfied that he had played his part as amiable billionaire playboy enough in this particular corner of the room, Bruce decided to move on.

"Well, I'd better toddle along and give your friends a chance to speak with you again. Ladies, gentlemen," he said, giving Ollie and the rest of the group a parting nod.

He continued to move along, nodding greetings right and left and stopping for short conversations ever so often. Eventually, he permitted himself a short break from the constant socialising by stopping inside one of the windows, and let his eyes rest on the silhouette of Gotham, backlit by the setting sun.

Suddenly, he caught the reflection of someone standing close behind him; a familiar but unexpected figure. He turned slowly to see the woman moving right into his personal space, putting her hand lightly on his arm.

"Beloved."

"… Talia."

As always, there was something ageless about her beauty, and her posture was as proud as ever. It was impossible not to be reminded of his son – his youngest boy – when he looked into the dark eyes of Talia al Ghul.

The future mother of his son – however that was going to work, in this time.

"This party doesn't seem like your cup of tea, Talia. What are you doing here?" he asked, after taking a good look around to make sure that no-one paid them any attention. He didn't know what cover she was using, but she didn't fit the usual mould of socialite women that his playboy persona would flirt with.

Her mouth curved in a slight smile.

"I came to your country to take care of some business for my father. I happened to read about how the Gotham nightlife has been busier than usual, these last weeks. Naturally, I wanted to see for myself."

"I see. Fancy that," Bruce murmured. He took a sip of his drink and added, "But I'm sure nothing is going on that would be of interest to you," with an exaggerated shrug that made Talia let go of his arm. He edged half a step away from her and shoved his free hand into his pocket.

If he wanted Damian to be born, he would need to get a damned sight closer to the brown-haired woman in front of him, but truth be told, he didn't feel at all comfortable at the thought.

Making love to someone you were in love with or having a one night stand with someone you were attracted to was one thing… But having sex with someone you had broken up with long ago, and had so many conflicted feelings about, that was something else entirely.

It didn't matter that it hadn't happened like that here, yet. It was all vivid in his mind; his on-and-off relationship with Talia, the memory of how she had kept Damian hidden from him and how his son had been treated, the knowledge of the times she had had a hand in endangering the lives of his older kids, how she had neglected to tell him about Jason's resurrection. He could never feel about her as he had done when he was younger and still had to experience these things.

And yet – how could he not try? With Damian's very existence at stake?

While he was thinking, Talia observed him steadily. She must have seen something she didn't expect because her brow furrowed and she asked, "Are you quite all right, beloved?"

Keep your cover – a playboy at a party, he reminded himself, plastered on a wide grin and did a mock salute with his glass.

"What could not be right in the world? A smashing party, a beautiful woman by my side…"

Talia's gaze flickered to his side at the same time as he felt a movement by his arm. He looked down to see Dick standing there, his head slightly cocked, eyes set on Talia.

Dick had over the years usually ignored or been supportive of Bruce's efforts to have romantic relationships; he had even pushed him to open up to Selina. But of all the women Bruce had dated, Talia was the one who clashed worst with his eldest. Dick distrusted Talia – Talia despised Dick.

She had never liked it when Bruce's attention was divided between her and someone else, and when Damian was born, she saw the other Robins as rivals for the Batman legacy. That much had been obvious in Damian's attitude when he first entered the Wayne family.

Talia raised her eyebrows minutely, letting her gaze travel between Dick and Bruce. The older man tensed, waiting for what she would say. Prejudiced slurs against Dick were rare, once the novelty of Gotham's prince taking in a child from a travelling circus had worn off, but they did occur. But surely, Talia knew how to keep a polite façade, at least, and would not say anything hurtful in front of the boy.

"I hope you don't intend to keep the child up late at night – for your parties," she finally said, with a faint smile.

He relaxed minutely – an inside joke that he could deal with in a way that suited his playboy act.

Bruce chuckled and let his hand fall on Dick's shoulder.

"Don't worry; my playboy habits are strictly confined to a child-friendly timetable, nowadays." He squeezed Dick's shoulder and made a small, pushing movement.

"Thanks for checking in, Dick. I'll see you in another half hour."

"… Right, Bruce. Bye, Miss al Ghul," Dick said; stiffly but nevertheless making an effort to be polite.

"Goodnight, child," Talia retorted, keeping up the polite front in return.

As soon as Dick had turned his back, her attention was focused entirely on Bruce.

"However you want to describe it, you can't deny that you have been busy, beloved."

He had no wish to keep a conversation in riddles and innuendos about his nightlife as Batman surrounded by a few hundred persons.

"Ah, I'm sure the rumours of my success has been greatly exaggerated, Miss al Ghul," he said, giving her his broadest party-boy smile. "There must be so much more interesting things to talk about."

Talia looked thoughtfully at him for a few seconds; then she inclined her head slightly.

"Of course. I will find you at a more opportune occasion."

She offered him an enigmatic smile and was gone among the crowd.

Bruce stared down in his drink for a while to collect himself after the unexpected meeting, before he took a deep breath, arranged his features to a careless grin and walked straight into the mass of people.

He continued to make his way around the party, stopping for a chat here and there when he saw people he knew or, for that matter, when somebody he didn't know came up to him. When Dick turned up at his elbow a third time, he was trying to fend off a slightly tipsy and starry-eyed young lady politely. Dick gave him a look that would have made Alfred proud, shook his head and disappeared back into the crowd.

If Dick hadn't disappeared so quickly, Bruce would probably have played the bedtime-card; as it were, he finally excused himself with that he urgently needed to talk to a friend that he had just glimpsed on the other side of the room and sneaked away.

He had not seen Talia again. She might very well already have left the party, once it had become clear that he was not in a mood to talk. She would return, of that he did not doubt – she might just as well walk into Wayne Manor tomorrow as step out behind Batman in an alley three months from now. But he hoped that she would not turn up in the near future; for all that the time of Damian's birth was getting precariously close, he needed more time to think about how to act.

"Talia, I'd like us to be together to conceive a child that can be born exactly 280 days from now. And you will leave the child with me…"

Yeah, that would go down well with the proud woman.

Bruce shook his head and forced the thoughts away; he had to play his part a little longer this night. He gulped down the last of the non-alcoholic drink and went to look for another.

Drifting along with a new glass of clear liquid in his hand, he spotted a group of socialite acquaintances that he hadn't spoken to yet and took refuge with them. He took care to position himself behind one of the Doric pillars that separated the main room from one of the antechambers, trying to get a breather from the crowd. It was restful to let the others do the talking, knowing that he could get away with a few smiles and laughs; he let his mind wander, listening to snippets of conversation from all around him.

Someone was talking about the weather, someone of world politics, other voices spoke of the latest blockbuster movie or the price of oil… Just another day in Gotham's high society, Bruce thought idly. He was preparing to get his attention back to his present company when he picked up a sentence that made his blood run cold, and his hand twitch enough to spill some of the clear liquid from his glass.

"We should not leave the Gray son with the playboy much longer. We have use of him."

Lord no – the Court, he had forgotten about the Court, he had been so focused on remembering everything that he had encountered in this era that he neglected that the Court of Owls had been there for years and years before the Batman finally had to confront them.

* * *

 _You know, there have been serval times when I've been ready to move on to the finishing chapters. At the end of summer 2018, I thought this fic was going to be about 28 chapters, all in all. And then someone would make a comment that made me think, hm, that would be fun to explore. Or I found a Golden age story I couldn't resist... So here we are. I promise there will be an ending, though._

 _I wanted to give Talia at least a small cameo, even though I got a hard time puzzling together her past here._

 _She was obviously not around when Dick was a young Robin in the Golden age, being created in 1971. When Ra's has Dick kidnapped to see if Bruce is a worthy husband for Talia he was at college (Dick was kidnapped to set up a test for Batman, as you might remember). But after Flashpoint, Dick is not old enough to have been to college when Damian is born. I might have said this before, I wish DC hadn't made these changes, but there you are…_

 _Since I'm working on the basis that Bruce is 14 years time-displaced and Damian is about 13 back home, Talia must be around (just as the Court), even though I take most of my inspiration from Golden age stories._

 _I'm sure I haven't read every story with Talia, and I really don't know what's supposed to pass as canon, these days; if she grew Damian in a test-tube, if he is the result of Bruce and Talia having a love affair or of rape, if she tried to have Damian killed and made a clone, what kind of a mother she has been (I mean, letting your kid be raised as a murderer and keeping the kid a secret from the father means she's never going to be a stellar mother, but there is bad, and there is bad..). Thus, I'm keeping things a bit on the vague side…_

 _Horse polo (for instance Batman # 48 and World's Finest # 194),_ y'know _(Batman # 48) and oopsie (Robin Year One) are all from canon comics._

 _"The 1000 secrets of the Batcave" by Bill Finger, art Jim Mooney, in Batman # 48._

 _"Robin Year One", by Chuck Dixon and Scott Beatty, art by Javier Pulido and Robert Campanella._

 _"Inside the Mafia Gang", by Bob Haney, art by Ross Andru and Mike Esposito. In_

 _World's Finest Comics # 194._

 _For more about playboy Batman, in the sense of how many women he has dated, there is my earlier blog post._

Bonus _of the week: a look at the very extensive list of people who have at some time been part of the Bat-family._

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	39. Chapter 39

Bruce made an effort to keep his mask of an ineffectual playboy, firing off a grin to the last one in his party who spoke before taking half a step back to get a glance of whoever had been speaking.

It had been a woman's voice, and when he looked over his shoulder to the other side of the column, he recognized a young Maria Power walking away. She had been one of the members of the Court at his time – and evidently already was. But he couldn't see whom she had been talking to, and he didn't dare to be obvious about looking. He couldn't afford to rile the Court up, not yet.

He would have to consider his options later; first, he needed to find Dick and leave. It had been at least ten minutes since he last saw his ward and it was near impossible to spot a small boy in a room full of adults. He mumbled an excuse to the group of people he had been standing with and walked away.

For every step that he took without seeing Dick, he felt his stress level rising. But they haven't touched him, he told himself, Maria Power wouldn't have talked the way she did if the Court intended to go after the boy right now.

Could he protect Dick here and now? When the Court had attacked Gotham in his own time, he hadn't been alone, and he had to admit, on his own Batman would never have stood a chance against the small army of Talons. If the Court were to deploy their assassins to pick up their "Gray son" right now, they would take him.

The thought of Dick in the Owl's labyrinth, forced to drink the drugged water and destined for one of the red-brown coffins in the vast white hall, with laughing blue eyes transformed into expressionless gold, almost made him sick. He stopped to take a deep breath and chase away the disturbing thoughts; he didn't have time for nonsense.

Some people tried to drag him into a conversation, but he plastered an apologizing smile on his face and evaded everyone while he continued his search. One turn around the large room following the walls, another turn further in, and still no Dick in sight. He stopped and forced himself to think logically – Dick had probably eaten to his heart's content by now, he would be bored since had no company, except the occasional adult cooing over how cute he was… The boy would try to retreat somewhere where he felt comfortable…

His eyes flickered up; no, there was no balcony indoors. But there was a terrace outside, over the entrance of the building, Bruce recalled, and he turned on his heels to make his way towards the french windows.

His heart finally settled down when he spotted the boy, sitting on the marble parapet outside, reclining with his back against the wall and looking out over the city. He hurried out on the terrace, covering the distance to Dick in a few long strides.

The boy turned towards him and straightened, looking at him with eyes that were still blue, not flashing yellow. There was time – there had to be time, to thwart the Court.

"What's up, Bruce?"

"We're leaving."

"Oh, already?" Dick said, tilting his head.

"Now. Come."

The boy scrunched his nose a second, obviously wondering but knowing better than to ask in these surroundings, and jumped down from the parapet. Bruce put a hand lightly on his shoulder and started to steer his ward through the mass of people against the exit.

They passed close to Oliver Queen on their way; the man was looking at them with a slight frown and tried to catch Bruce's eyes. For all that he was confident that the archer did not know that he was Batman, he had probably picked up that something was off with Bruce's behaviour and wanted to see if he could help. But he made a point of not looking in Ollie's direction; at this stage, he wasn't prepared to make any move that might alert the Court. He pushed Dick lightly in front of him and made an effort to exchange a few last smiles and words on the way out to give the impression that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Dick, of course, was not fooled, but he waited until they were seated in the car until he turned to his guardian.

"Come on, Bruce, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

"…"

"Are you okay? Please talk to me."

He didn't know what to say. He wasn't going to tell his boy about how his great grandfather was a nearly un-killable assassin and that Dick had been marked as a Talon himself; only the death of his parents and Bruce taking him in had saved him.

So far. In his own time, Dick had been grown up before the Court came out of the shadows to challenge Batman and his associates, and eventually tried to claim their "Gray son" with Damian as bait.

Adult Dick had been smart and skilled enough to defeat his Talon great grandfather, and connected enough to go up against the worldwide Parliament of Owls. And, most importantly, strong enough not to let the knowledge of his "destiny" affect him. Even the name he was so proud of signalled that he was a child of the Court; who knew what impact it might have on him at this age?

"Bruce! Whats wrong? I'll call Alfred…"

"… I'm all right. I just need to think."

"What happened in there?"

"Please, Dick. I can't talk right now."

Dick scowled at him, crossed his arms and turned to stare out of his side window. Not that he blamed the boy – he knew that he was unreasonable, but he didn't know what to say. Or what to do.

Thoughts kept racing through his head. I will ask Clark... The League...

Asking for help had never come easy for Bruce. Dick would have scoffed at him if he knew what he was thinking; he would say something along the line of "helping each other is what friends are for, or allies if you get an allergic reaction to the word friends…"

But no matter how many people he called upon, he couldn't help but doubt that they could shut the Court down. The future he had lived through had proved how difficult it would be.

Superman and Wonder Woman could be trusted to stand against armies, but the vast, underground movement that was the Parliament of Owls was another matter. You couldn't defeat it with a mighty strike; you couldn't yank it out into the open with superhuman strength. There were just too many rich and powerful people, in cities all over the world, convinced that it was their prerogative to make decisions for the world around them, even about life and death.

Regardless if he rallied the League to go up against them globally, there were no guarantees that they would find enough of the Owls to prevent them from coming back. After all, the Court worked from the shadows so deep that they had escaped Batman, who prided himself of being at home in the darkness, for years.

In his own time, the Parliament of Owls was at least gravely crippled. Dick had proven to be more than a match for them – and Batman himself had so many more trusted allies and better technology in the future he had been snapped from.

Bruce was no closer to a decision on how to act when he drove up in front of the Manor, and the car came to a stop. He pushed the button to open the door on the passenger side before he put both his hands back on the wheel, took a breath and turned to Dick.

"Go inside, Dick. And don't go out for anything."

"Why? What's happening?"

He didn't really think the Court would come, right at this moment, but he wouldn't feel calm enough to sort through his thoughts and feelings unless he knew his family was safe.

"I need to work undisturbed in the cave tonight."

"I can help…"

"No! You and Alfred will stay inside the Manor. Don't let anyone or anything in."

"Why? You can't just order us around without explaining anything, as if we were… a flock of sheep!"

"You swore to obey me. Now, go inside and tell Alfred."

"Are you kidding me? After everything you had to say about trust, a few hours ago?"

"Go. Inside. Stay," Bruce repeated in Batman's voice.

The boy stared at him with narrow eyes and clenched teeth. He was still fixing Bruce with his eyes when he unfastened the seat belt and jumped out of the passenger seat with quick, angry movements.

"Stay in that cave for all I care. At least you have your precious bats – perhaps you trust them enough to talk to them!" Dick growled before he turned on his heels and took the steps leading up to the manor entrance in a few leaps.

Bruce turned his eyes away from the figure of the upset boy and started the car again. If someone had asked him later how he drove into the garage and went down to the cave, he wouldn't have been able to answer; his muscle memory did everything practical, while his mind was filled with thoughts about the Court.

In his old time, the Court had ignored Batman and Bruce Wayne until he had announced his plans to rebuild Gotham. Just as they had ignored the boy that had slipped through their fingers until he was a grown man.

What was different in this time? Had Robin's recent fight with Cane piqued their interest? Had Batman or Bruce Wayne done something to make the Court perceive him as a threat that needed to be dealt with?

They had already taken another boy to serve as the Talon for this generation; one of Dick's friends from the circus. He knew that the boy had been rejected, in the end. Had it already happened? Had they decided that the substitute was insufficient and decided to go after their original target?

Or had he simply happened to witness a moment of annoyance in one of the members, an outburst that would never lead to anything? The Court might stay in the shadows and William Cobb not go after his great-grandchild in the foreseeable future – giving Batman time to prepare and hunt them down.

… Or perhaps they would, for some reason, decide that their precious Gray son should be a Talon, right now.

He stood before the Batcomputer; a technological marvel of this time, and right now utterly useless. He had spent so much time when he was a mere child, trying to uncover the truth behind the legend of the Court of Owls. But he had found nothing, and no matter what commands he typed into the computer, there was no useful information to access. The only thing he knew was what he could remember from his earlier life.

With a few clicks, a new folder was created, and Batman started filling it with everything he could remember – names, places, events – writing at a pace that strained his fingers. He hadn't missed his modern computer with voice command this much since he came back in time.

When he had no more scraps of memories to write out, he straightened and pushed the chair away from the computer with a frustrated noise. It was nowhere near enough information. For all he knew, most of the people who he remembered had made up the Court in his time weren't members yet – he would have to research each and every one of them, and he would have to infiltrate the places he knew they used in his time.

He was deep in thought when he suddenly thought he saw something move inside the shadows in the reflection from the computer screen. Batman flinched and whipped the chair around so fast it almost fell over.

His heartbeat sped up when unwanted images of Talons invading his home – from the roof, from windows, from the cave – flickered through his brain. But when he stared into the darkness, he saw nothing that moved, no signs of life.

He told himself that it had probably been one of the bats – unless he had imagined everything. But the fact was that darkness of the cave, that had given him a sense of safety and control as long as he could remember, suddenly felt threatening. There could be an army out there, biding their time.

Bruce shuddered and turned back to the computer, shoving his fear as far away as he could while he concentrated on the work at hand.

It was much later when he finally glanced at the time; he had been obsessing over the Court of Owls for hours, and the clock was well over midnight. Dick would have gone to bed, angry and disappointed. And Alfred would probably still be up, worrying and waiting for Bruce to come up.

He had to face them, eventually. With a grimace, he rose from the chair and headed upstairs.

Bruce was utterly unsurprised when Alfred met him, less than a minute after he emerged from the hidden entrance to the cave.

"Ah, Master Bruce."

"…Alfred."

"Young Master Richard went to bed an hour ago. Not in the best of mood, I'm sorry to say."

"Hmh."

"I trust you had a good reason to upset him. And, frankly, to scare us both."

He did have to tell his father-figure something. Enough to give a reasonable explanation.

"… I think we could both use a cup of tea, Alfred."

Ten minutes later, Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table, staring down in the dark ember of his favourite tea, struggling with exactly what he was going to tell his family. Not about the Talon's mark inside Dick's mouth; not as long as he could avoid it. It would hurt the boy too much. And Dick was far too likely to go looking for trouble, especially if it had something to do with Haly's circus or his parents.

He took a sip to fortify himself.

"Do you remember the Court of Owls, Alfred?"

"A nursery rhyme of local origin. It caused you considerable stress, as a child. I could hardly forget that, my boy."

"I have recently encountered evidence that there is… some truth behind the rhyme. A dangerous organization. With trained assassins at their disposal."

"You looked for them. Quite thoroughly."

"I did. I... I couldn't believe some random thug killed my parents, over small change."

It still hurt to talk about it; he could hear the strain in his own voice, and the way Alfred's mien changed into something softer showed that the older man heard it too.

"You found nothing. Still, it almost cost you your life, when you accidentally was locked in the Harbor house for days, and I couldn't find you."

"I gave up then. I thought I had proved they didn't exist. But they do, Alfred. And I don't know how to protect us against them."

Alfred fell silent for a while. Then, he spoke in a measured voice.

"I see. And do you have reason to believe that they pose an immediate threat to Gotham? Or to Batman and Robin?"

Good – Alfred had interpreted his words as if the Court was a threat to Gotham, not to them personally. For the time being, Bruce preferred that.

"Not that I know of, no."

He was half convinced he was right. The Court was not going to invade their home right now, not without provocation or until Maria Power had convinced the others.

"Then I suggest that you go to bed. You need to rest, and you need to have a clear head when you speak with the young Master tomorrow. I dare say Batman and Robin will fare better towards this Court if they present a united front."

He sighed and put down the teacup.

"Right as always, Alfred."

* * *

 _The background and events Bruce and Alfred talk about regarding Court of Owls is from, you guessed it, "_ _The Court of Owls"._

 _Owls have turned up in Dick's life on a few occasions. Dick himself was, for instance, an Owlman, in Batman # 107._

 _The storyline about The Court of Owls, Dick's Talon great grandfather, and the Court's effort to recruit_ Dick _are recent enough that I'm hoping everyone who reads knows what I'm referencing here. There is a short version in my blog post about the owls in Dick's life. If you want to read more, check out The Court of Owls, Night of the Owls, Robin Wars, and Nightwing vol 4, Rebirth and # 1-7._

 _I got a question (very flattering to be asked, I might add!) about Talia and Dick after the last chapter. If anyone's interested, you can find my reply on Tumblr._

 _Tumblr com / blog / northoftheroad_


	40. Chapter 40

Sleep had not come easily, with thoughts about the Court rushing through his brain, but eventually, exhaustion took its due and Bruce fell asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky and the time of the day you could within decency call morning had passed. Alfred had let him sleep in, and Dick was no doubt still too angry to ask for his company.

Bruce lingered in bed; after a night of processing his thoughts about the Court of Owls, things looked more hopeful. He did, after all, know where the Gotham court had its headquarter and where they stored their Talons. He might not be able to shut the Court down, but he could take their weapons from them. With the aid of Superman and the League, he should be able to put them permanently on ice…

An image of Dick, transformed into a Talon, flashed through his mind and he clenched his teeth; burn them to ashes, something in him hissed viciously, they are already dead…

He yanked his thoughts back to a rational process. How the assassins were to be handled or be disposed of would take careful planning. He remembered being told that at least one of them had looked forward to death, to a mercy killing. If he were ever to be asked to do that… could he go through with it?

But that too was a quandary for another day. The important thing was that without their assassins, the Court would be less of a threat. Not harmless, with all the economic and political power the members yielded, but Batman and Bruce Wayne should be able to handle them.

There was, of course, the fact that Gotham court was but a part of a worldwide organisation. There could be hundreds of Talons out there; if he were to aggravate the Court in Gotham enough, the Parliament might send more Talons to Gotham. Since Bruce had not been the one to take on the Parliament of Owls, he did not know enough even to try to shut it down.

Taking on the Court, and thereby challenging the Parliament of Owls, would by no means be an easy task. But in the bright daylight, it felt less impossible than it had the night before. Batman was no pushover, and he could enlist the help of the world's mightiest heroes, after all. There might be a good reason why he usually didn't want metas in Gotham, but if the choice stood between having his family ripped apart by the Court and asking Superman to use his freeze-breath…

With that thought, he rose from bed for a quick shower before he went downstairs. In the kitchen, Alfred greeted him with his customary politeness while he poured a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, sir. I trust you feel better today."

Bruce accepted the cup.

"Thank you, Alfred. And yes, I do. Almost clear enough in the head to speak to Dick. Have you seen him?"

"Master Dick headed out some time ago."

Bruce froze with the coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

"Out?!"

"For a run, on the grounds," Alfred clarified.

"... I told him that you should both stay inside."

"Indeed, sir. And so we did, last night. But since you didn't bring it up when you came from the cave, I didn't see any harm in letting him out on the grounds. The security system around the grounds is first rate, after all."

Coffee sloshed over the edge when Bruce put the cup down on the countertop. He hastily took up his mobile and opened the app he used to track Dick; all the boy's trackers were inside the Manor.

"Are you sure he hasn't returned?"

"Fairly certain, sir. I haven't heard or seen him. If I may... have you put trackers on him?"

"Hm."

"I see. And does Master Richard know?"

"...He does."

"I don't suppose he approves."

Bruce snorted.

"He still promised me he would bring his phone in the future, even on the grounds," he said, as he shot another look at his app. "But it seems to be in his room. Last time, he went in through the window; I'll take a look."

He rushed up to Dick's room, where he knocked impatiently and waited for the shortest possible time before he opened the door. A quick look revealed that, as expected, there was a mobile but no boy in the room.

It could be a small rebellion – or forgetfulness; Bruce had to acknowledge that. Dick had certainly not shied away from rebellion in his youth – but not for several years to come. He was still a kid; almost a baby, for crying out loud, Bruce thought despondently as he left the room and headed downstairs.

Alfred waited for him by the foot of the staircase.

"He's still out," Bruce confirmed, "and he left his phone behind".

"I'm sure he will be back presently, Master Bruce. Unless there is something you're not telling us, a run around the grounds will do him no harm. I suggest that you either tell me what the real problem is, or sit down for a light breakfast."

"… Hnh. I'll have my breakfast, please."

"Very well, sir."

He felt as he was sitting on needles while Alfred served the morning meal, too preoccupied even to open the morning paper. Halfway through his ham and egg, he heard the front door open and close, and he was on his feet, heading there, in an instant.

"Dick!"

The boy was kicking his muddy running shoes on the shoe rack inside the coat cabinet. By the sound of his guardian's voice, he turned his head.

"'Morning, Bruce," he said in a neutral voice.

Bruce quelled the urge to admonish the boy for going out, against his strict orders last evening. Alfred had a point; he had said nothing about prolonging the house arrest when they spoke. That Dick had left his mobile behind was another thing, but he didn't want them to end up in a shouting match, so he forced his voice into a pleasant tone.

"Did you have a good run?"

"Sure."

"Chum... I don't want to sound like a drill sergeant but left your mobile in your room. You promised to bring it, even when you're just outside the Manor."

Dick didn't meet his eyes, but he frowned for a second, pursed his lips and answered with a shrug, "Right. I forgot. Sorry."

Bruce studied him; it was startling to realise that he couldn't tell if the boy was telling the truth. It wasn't out of the question that he had forgotten; Dick had been permitted to run around the grounds without his mobile since he moved into the Manor, a few years ago, after all.

But it troubled him, that he couldn't tell if Dick was lying. At this age, the boy shouldn't be able to lie to him. Had he forgotten the boy's tells over the years? Or had Dick learned to mask what he was thinking, in just a few weeks?

"Dick, please look at me."

The boy complied; slowly and with his eyebrows arched in a question.

"If you say you forgot, I believe you. But you have promised me twice to keep your phone, even if you're angry with me. You knew I was scared to let you out yesterday. Even if Alfred gave you permission to go outside, I wish you had remembered your phone."

"It's kind of a moot point, Bruce. If I had remembered, I wouldn't have forgotten."

"I know. But I have to remind you, for my own peace of mind. Don't ever forget it again, okay?"

"I don't know what you're going to do, Bruce," said Dick, in a low voice but with a bit of bite in it. "I'm already grounded. You're already not telling me the truth about what's going on. Short of kicking me out and sending me to the orphanage, I don't know what you're going to do to punish me for forgetting to bring one of your trackers at all times."

He couldn't stop himself; Bruce grabbed Dick's shoulders and turned the boy to look straight at him.

"I would never do that, Dick. This is your home, and you will always be welcome here. Please tell me you know that."

There had been times when a vow like that would have been met by a hug, or tears glistening in the boy's eyes, or even a "and I love you too". This time, all he got was a short, tense smile.

"I know Bruce; it was a dumb thing to say. I'll make sure to remember the phone in the future. I know I've got a sports bracelet somewhere; I'll put it with my shoes so I can't miss it."

"Thank you..." Bruce said, letting go.

Dick immediately turned away from him.

"I'll take a shower and sit down and read. See you at lunch, I guess."

* * *

Lunch turned out to be an abysmal affair. Outside his Brucie persona, Bruce had never mastered the art of small talk. More importantly, he had never needed it in his relationship with Dick. His eldest was always willing to start and uphold a conversation or facilitate his guardian's efforts to express himself.

Unless he was royally pissed, of course. The boy had over the years showed himself to not be above avoiding him, refuse to speak with him, utter snarky comments or shouting angrily.

Dick ignoring him and keeping silent, except for a few "thanks Alfie" to Alfred, was depressingly familiar – only it shouldn't have happened for several years. Bruce had even hoped that they wouldn't come to that at all, in this time.

Except, it wasn't completely familiar. When Dick was angry enough to ignore him, his anger would shine through in his body language; the whole thing was likely to end in an explosion of words. There would be no doubt that Bruce was, in fact, at the centre of his attention – of his feelings.

This time, Dick didn't seem to care that his guardian was there. Whatever he was thinking about, it was not centred around him.

Bruce knew, without a doubt, that if he asked the boy what he was thinking about he would not get an honest answer.

Dick used to trust him – with everything, at this age. But then, in this time he had trusted young Dick too, in a way he had never trusted any of his partners in the future, no matter their age.

He hadn't even been here for forty days; had he already ruined his boy's trust? He didn't want to think about what effect that would that have on their future relationship – or indeed on Dick's personality.

What if I've changed him forever. It only took a few measly weeks, all I've done is make sure he's never going to be that open and brave person I was so proud of, Bruce thought hopelessly.

In the end, they both spent lunch in silence. Not until they had finished the meal did Dick look at him and spoke.

"Can I come down to the cave? For the suit and training?"

He would have expected the question to be asked with enthusiasm, or challenging, or perhaps with a begging tone and those puppy eyes that made the boy near impossible to refuse. Instead, Dick sounded disinterested. As if going down to the cave hardly was worth the effort.

Maybe he was simply counting on a refusal and didn't want to get his hopes up.

Bruce wished he could say yes. He wanted so very much to find a way to rebuild their relationship. But for all that the Court seemed less of a threat in daylight, he still couldn't shake the images of Talons materialising out of the shadows around the cave. It wasn't logical, seeing as the assassins might just as well enter through the windows; but in his mind, the darkness still felt threatening.

"Not today, Dick. I know you're eager for Alfred to start working with your suit, but... not today."

Dick shrugged.

"So… I'm not permitted to leave the Manor, and not downstairs. Anything else I can't do?"

Bruce's temper flared, and he almost snapped at the boy; everything he did was aimed at protecting his family, after all. But Dick didn't even know as much as Alfred…

"I understand that you're… upset and bored, Dick," he said instead, slowly. "But I'm sure you have already figured out that I'm investigating something that might pose a threat to Gotham…and to us. I will brief you very soon; I promise."

Just as soon as he'd figured out exactly how to tell the boy about the Court without letting anything slip about the connection to Haly's circus.

"Right," said Dick, flatly. He rose from the table and gave Alfred a quick smile. "Thanks for lunch, Alfie. I'll sit in the library for a while."

"You're very welcome, Master Richard. I shall look in on you, later," the butler said after Dick's disappearing figure.

As long as Bruce had known him, Alfred Pennyworth had put his persona as a professional butler first; before being a guardian or a father figure – or indeed a grandfather. It was almost unheard of that the man sat down at the same table as his employer. But now, when Dick was out of sight, he drew out the chair beside Bruce and sat down, turning towards the younger man and looking him straight int he eyes.

"My dear boy… I don't know what has been troubling you these last weeks. But I implore you to…to get your head out of your ass, as you Americans would put it."

"… I know."

" You're alienating him. It did not end well, the last time."

"I will figure it out, Alfred. I promise you. I'll find a way to deal with the Court, and with Dick."

He hadn't really thought that Alfred would be convinced that easily; and right enough, the Englishman didn't look away.

" You're the most stubbornly self-reliant person I've ever known, Bruce. You've always wanted to take on the world by yourself, ever since you were a little boy. Won't you please let me help you… let us help you… Before you tear yourself – your family – apart. Master Richard would jump at the chance to help."

His family… Bruce felt sad, for a moment, that this Alfred would never get to see the family Bruce once had built. Not the youngsters he had taken into the Wayne family. Nor what the kids jokingly liked to call the "Bat-family"; the continually growing number of partners and protégés he had worked with over the years.

He knew that Alfred had loved that the Wayne family had grown again. But this time, it would be different. Better, for so many people; but very different for those in the Manor.

Spontaneously, Bruce put one of his hands – still big and strong, but nowhere near as scarred as it had been only some weeks ago – over the hand of his surrogate father.

"Alfred. I know how it looks at the moment. But I promise it will be all right. I will find a way."

Alfred let out a sigh, straightened up and gave Bruce a weary smile.

"If you say so, Master Bruce."

Bruce gave his hand a quick squeeze before he let go and stood up.

"I do. And I'll get to work on it, right now."

The morning paper was still lying on the table, unopened. Bruce picked it up on his way to the cave; he tried to at least glance through the Gazette every day, and he had a long afternoon in front of him.

But first, he was going to start planning how to incapacitate the Gotham Court of Owls. Planning – that was Batman's strongest suit, after all.

* * *

 _Canonically, as far as I know, Bruce seldom if ever thinks of Dick as a baby… But Frank Miller's psychotic Batman in_ All Star _Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder, does, when he bat-naps Dick to draft him into his war. The panel is on my Tumblr list about Dick's different origin stories._

 _If you missed it, I made a list about the Bat-family members from the Golden age and until today a few weeks ago._

 _I'm actually working on something about Alfred, but I'm not ready to publish just yet. Keep looking and I'll post a link with a future chapter!_

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	41. Chapter 41

Bruce did a quick check of what he had written the night before to pick out the most essential facts to take into account when the time came to put an end to the Talons. The things that he needed to share with League to ensure a successful mission when the time came.

On top of the list, he put the number of Talons he calculated that the Gotham Court had access to. Where to find them and the Gotham maze. Viable methods to incapacitate them – the foremost being cold.

He made extensive notes about how to identify and help Calvin Rose, the Talon that had escaped the Court in his own time and for a time worked with Batman, Incorporated. Bruce wasn't certain that the man already was with the Court, but if he was, he shouldn't be treated as just another Talon.

His next step was to devise strategies and contingency plans for each step. Which League members to ask for help, what equipment to bring, what to do with the remains, how to pursue the Talons if they got away.

Superman's cold breath would probably be their best means to subdue the assassins; he made a special note of that he needed to get his hands on effective freeze guns. Perhaps he could remember enough about how Mister Freeze's most modern and efficient weapons worked to replicate them.

With drafts in place for each step of the operation, he sat back in the chair and steepled his fingers. Soon, he would have to make a reconnaissance trip to the maze and the hall of Talons. He did not doubt that it was at the location where he had been held a prisoner in the future, but Batman had not earned his reputation by assuming things. Besides, he had been in bad shape when he escaped – his memories might not be completely reliable. When the time came to ask the League for help, he was going to know the exact layout of the place and all the possible exits from the site.

It would be beneficial if he could get his hand on the electrum in the Talons' blood and test it; he had never thought to examine if the substance in any way could pose a threat to humans or any of the metas in the League.

Of course, he had electrum easy accessible in his home; in Dick's tooth. But he would have no chance to remove it without raising the boy's suspicions…

Batman sighed and massaged his forehead. He still hadn't figured out the really tough question; how to explain everything to Dick. Was there even a way for him to keep the boy from the knowledge of the role that Haly's circus played?

Then again, if Dick ever found out and realized that Bruce had lied to him, there would be hell to pay…

He made a grunting noise and rolled his shoulders; he was getting stiff and would benefit from a break away from the computer. He stood up, eyes darting between the gym and a comfortable chair; perhaps it was time to sit down and read this morning's Gotham Gazette. It was important to keep up with what was going on, after all.

No, sitting was not what he needed at the moment, he decided. First, a quick work-out to get rid of the stiffness.

It was about an hour later when he was ready to glance through the paper. A cup of tea or coffee would have been nice while he was reading the paper, but Alfred hadn't shown himself in the cave all afternoon, and the thermos flask had not been filled up since yesterday. Well, it wasn't as if he had encouraged the man to come down – and Alfred no doubt thought it was more important to keep Dick company upstairs.

Good thing there was a refrigerator stocked with water bottles and sports drinks, at least. Bruce grabbed a bottle, sat down in the armchair and picked up the morning paper.

The headline "Famous writer Reginald Scofield found shot to death" stared at him, in black, accusing letters. His shout of "Damn!" echoed in the cave, together with the loud thump when he slammed his hand down on the table.

He and Robin had saved the man, in his old life. Following a trail in search of gem smugglers had brought them to the mystery authors secluded home, and ultimately led to their preventing Scofield's servant Digges from shooting the man.

Digges had said he wouldn't have killed Scofield if his employer hadn't guessed that he was part of the smuggler gang. In Bruce's memory, it was what had happened during Batman and Robin's visit that had made Reginald Scofield put two and two together. This time, something else must have tipped the author off. And Batman and Robin had not been at hand to save him...

The knowledge that he knew the probable identity of the murderer, and that he had a good chance of catching the man, did nothing to dissuade the guilt he felt.

Almost reluctantly, he continued to flip the pages of the Gotham Gazette, skimming the headlines; afraid to see proof of something else that had changed. In the entertainment section, a name caught his eye. The boy film star Danny McGee had finished filming his latest movie, "The Boy Buccaneer".

Robin had saved – should save – that boy's life, once. But he couldn't remember when or how – and of course, Dick wouldn't know. It could be next week; it could be next year.

Was he doomed to stand by and see Danny McGee's life perish, too?

He disgustedly threw the paper away, murmuring "Damn, damn, damn…." It probably sounded like whimpering; not that Batman would ever whimper…

He couldn't remember every case he and Robin had worked with when they were young; how many more people would die, because they weren't at the right place at the right time?

And how would that affect the future of the people that had once been his family? There could be a car accident because the wrong person was driving the car, a gang-fight that had never happened could result in a shootout on the streets, a careless smoker could start a fire that ravaged the home of someone he meant to protect by staying here…

It was as if something shifted inside him, all over again. He saw his situation from another perspective for the first time in weeks.

For a while, Bruce had honestly thought that the best he could do for his family and protégées was to stay in this time and relive a good portion of his life. That he could keep Jason alive and help him to a life outside Crime Alley, save Barbara from getting shot, steer Tim away from the vigilante life, find a good home for Cass…

But the fact was, for all his good intentions, he could not control what might happen. They could fall into the wrong company; they may be killed in accidents; they might simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The future was never predictable.

Truthfully, staying here meant that Damian – his Damian – would never be born. He had purposefully steered away from that thought so far, but facts were facts. Even disregarding that he, with fourteen additional years of memories and experience, would not be infatuated with Talia as he once had been, human fertilization was a thing of chance. The possibility of the two of them conceiving a child with the same DNA as his Damian were… non-existent.

And his relationship with Dick… The boy was already learning to guard his thoughts and feelings around him. Why had it seemed so much simpler when he was young and less experienced…?

He knew that Dick had grown up to be, at times, more like Bruce than he was comfortable with. He would hate it if he were to become even more like his foster father – more closed off, less trusting. To see other people first and foremost as potential threats and not as possible allies.

Dick's kindness might have lead to a number of heartbreaks, but at the end of the day, he knew that the young man did not want to be different. He would rather be brave enough to face disappointment than guard his heart as closely as Bruce did.

Dick – his Dick – would not want to become the person that Bruce feared he was starting to grow into in this life.

He stayed in the chair in front of his computer for a long time, staring with unseeing eyes into the darkness. He no longer feared that Talons would come swarming from the shadows; a future where he sat alone in the Manor, and in the cave, felt much more as a real threat than an army of assassins.

It all came down to what he had thought when he was first brought here. There was no future in the past – for Bruce or the people around him. In his time, all the kids were safe and alive. They might have gone through suffering that he would not wish on anyone, but they had lived through it. If he stayed here, there were no guarantees.

Without looking up, Bruce hit down on his emergency signal before he could have second thoughts.

* * *

 _Batman and Robin saved the life och the author Reginald Scofield in "The Crow's Nest Mystery" in Detective Comics # 100. By Don Cameron, art Jack Burnley and Charles Paris._

 _And Robin saved the life of the boy film star Danny McGee in "The No-face Crimes" in Star Spangled Comics # 66. Art Win Mortimer and Charles Paris._

 _That someone is a potential enemy is a Batman_ thought _, that she is a potential ally is a Dick Grayson_ thought _. It's in Nightwing vol 2 # 75, by Devin Grayson, art Rick Leonardi and Jesse Delperdang. (Granted, the person that makes him reflect upon this is Tarantula, future rapist, so that's one time Dick ought to have listened to his inner Batman…)_

 _See on Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad._


	42. Chapter 42

Seconds later, Bruce's jacket billowed in the wind of Superman's arrival. Slowly, he raised his head.

The Man of Steel hovered in the air beside him, gave him a curious look – no doubt wondering why he was in the cave, dressed in Bruce Wayne's slacks, turtleneck and blazer – and then looked up towards the roof.

When he had finished checking up on the Manor, Superman looked at him again and asked, "What's the emergency, Bruce?"

He took a deep breath.

"It's a longer story than I have time to tell you. Suffice to say; I need your help to get in contact with someone in the Fifth Dimension."

Superman landed gently on the cave floor and looked vaguely worried.

"Mr Mxyzptlk?"

"No. His girlfriend, Miss Gsptlsnz."

The look on Superman's face, all wide eyes and half-open mouth, would have been funny in another situation.

"He has a girlfriend?!"

"I believe I just told you. How do I get in contact?"

"When on earth did you meet her?"

"As I said, I don't have time to tell you the whole story. Not now. It's important that I get in contact with her."

"… Why would you like that? If she's anything like Mxyzptlk, she'll only cause trouble."

Batman debated with himself whether to bring up the threat to Dick or not. Superman wouldn't hesitate to help if he knew that Dick was at risk – on the other hand, he might be even more persistent in finding out the whole truth. Well, he would just have to stall. If everything worked out, it wasn't like Clark would get another chance to ask.

"Clark, I need you to trust me on this. I promise I will tell you everything if you ask me later, but right now I'm in a hurry. Dick is in danger, and I need to get in contact with Gsptlsnz. It is the only way for me to keep him safe."

Conflicting feelings flew over Superman's face, and the Kryptonian once again looked up through the cave roof to check on the boy while Batman waited with growing impatience. Eventually, Superman turned back to him with worry lines between his eyebrows.

"Of course I trust you, Bruce. But I've spent my time trying to send Mr Mxyzptlk back to the Fifth Dimension, not finding my way there… I've only been once, and that was plenty."

"How. Did. You. Get. There."

"It's not an option for you, if that's what you're thinking. Why don't you talk to Johnny Thunder?"

"Johnny Thunder, is he even…" Batman stopped himself from saying "alive" in time. He prided himself on keeping an eye on everyone and everything that might become a threat, and as far as he knew Johnny Thunder had lost contact with his genie Thunderbolt a long time ago, in his own time. The idea to search out the man hadn't even crossed his mind.

"He does show up with the Justice Society of America from time to time."

Batman's memories of Johnny Thunder was of a man with more heart than brains and seeing the man control such a powerful entity as the Thunderbolt had never sat well with him.

"Thunderbolt is a jinn from the Fifth Dimension, you know. He can get you there, if you catch him on a good day," Superman continued.

Batman's patience was at an end, and his face clearly indicated what would happen to anyone who tried to refuse what he asked of them.

His visitor sighed.

"Of course, they will oblige. Thunderbolt likes to tease Johnny, but he will do what's asked of him, and Johnny would never refuse to help. But the least you can do is be polite about it…"

"Hnh."

"I'm sure you have a way to get in contact with Johnny in that monstrosity of computer over there, or do you want my help to get in touch?"

"I'll find him."

"Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want me to stay with Dick?"

Once more, Bruce debated with himself. It might be a bad idea to keep Clark around and give him opportunities to snoop, but it was probably an even worse idea to say no. No matter how improbable it was that Maria Power's impulsive wish would be fulfilled in the near future there was always a risk that the Court would decide to send a Talon to fetch their alleged heir; Dick and Alfred would be no match for the assassin. It would kill Alfred and take the boy.

Besides, with Clark in place, Dick would not sneak out to look for trouble. Well, to look for whatever it was that Batman was hiding from him, but it amounted to the same thing.

He grunted.

"If you could stay in the Manor while I get things sorted, it would be appreciated."

Superman looked relieved and flashed a smile.

"No trouble at all, Bruce. I'll change and go up. I suppose you haven't told Dick what you're worried about?"

"… No."

"I wish you would. I can see that he's upset, all the way from here. No doubt because he knows you're hiding things from him. I'm sure it would be easier to keep him safe if he knew what was going on."

"… When I want parenting advice, I'll get back to you."

A small smile tugged in the corner of Superman's mouth.

"I'll be happy to oblige."

Batman was on the verge of turning to the computer and leaving Clark Kent to find his way upstairs but hesitated. If he got hold of the Thunderbolt, and if the jinn could indeed put him into contact with Gsptlsnz, and if he could persuade her to revoke the spell immediately… He would never see Dick as a child, or the younger Alfred, again.

He could take a minute to get closure. Even if these weeks were going to be something that had only happened in his mind, he didn't want his last memory being of the young boy upset with him.

Not unlike his last memory of the adult Dick in his own time, to be honest. What was it with him and getting on the wrong side of that boy…

"I'll accompany you upstairs before I contact Thunder."

* * *

"Mister Kent, how nice to see you. I was not aware you were going to visit. I would have made your favourite pie if I had known."

"That makes two of us that didn't know I was coming, Alfred," Clark smiled.

"Is Dick still in the library?" Bruce cut in.

"Sir, before you talk to Master Richard…" Alfred began.

He had already started walking, but a look at the butler's face made him stop. By rights, Alfred should look pleased that Bruce had called in Superman to help. But something was troubling the man. Considering that the Englishman usually kept his stiff upper lip in place, no matter what happened, that itself was cause to worry.

"You've received a letter that I think you should open," the man continued and held out an official-looking envelope.

Bruce accepted it automatically and turned to look who the sender was. A wave of cold rushed through his body when he read the text: Gotham Child Protective Service.

He had forgotten the suspicious Alice Lan. Was it a formal notice that the authorities intended to make a more thorough investigation, that they had started a process to remove Dick from Wayne Manor…

Forcing himself to relax, he reminded himself that it could just as well be another routine document. Or even a letter from Lan declaring that she was satisfied that Bruce Wayne was an adequate guardian.

Bruce hesitated, turning the letter over in his hands. If it were indeed troubling news, it could prove a distraction. And right now, he needed to concentrate on the imp. He didn't need anything that interfered with his focus – and in fact, he didn't even need to know what was in the letter. Once he got the blasted imp to put him back where he belonged, this would never have happened. He and Dick had never met Doctor Alice Lan. Dick had grown to adulthood in Bruce's care.

He returned the envelope.

"I'll look at it later. I have something more urgent to take care of right now."

Alfred raised an eyebrow – clearly, the man wasn't impressed with Bruce's unwillingness to face whatever the CPS wanted with their family.

"I know, the letter is important to us, Alfred. But trust me, this is more urgent," Bruce said and turned towards the library.

Dick was sitting on the sofa with a couple of books within reach, as well as his phone and paper and pencils. Among them, he could see a university level chemistry book that Bruce had assigned him as part of his Robin education, but the book the boy was presently reading was a worn copy of Howard Pyle's Robin Hood. Comfort reading.

Dick looked up, let his eyes fly right past Bruce but stopped at the Kryptonian; a small but genuine smile broke out.

"Uncle Clark!"

"Hello, Dick. You're cosy, in here."

Not even the presence of precious Uncle Clark could stop Dick from scowling.

"Not like I've got a lot of places to choose from", he returned, but his face quickly cleared and he asked, "Anything going on?"

Clark hesitated – searching for a good way to tell the boy he was on babysitting duty, no doubt. Bruce took advantage of the silence.

"Dick. Please listen to me."

Bruce waited until the boy looked at him and continued.

"I know you're upset I haven't been completely frank with you, but I need you to be patient a little longer. We are facing a dangerous threat. Clark will keep you and Alfred company while I hunt down a lead. Believe it or not, I need to get in contact with an imp from another dimension, Miss Gsptlsnz. I've been looking for her for some time now. It's vital that I find her as soon as possible; with Clark's help, I believe I'm finally on the right track."

The boy glared at him and murmured something about Catwoman.

"… What?"

"I said, isn't it bad enough with Catwoman, now you have to go around chasing some female imp too."

"… I thought you rather liked Selina…"

"Yeah, well, I don't like being kept out of the loop all the time…"

"I promise the next time I see you and Alfred, I will tell you all about what has been going on these last weeks. I need you to promise me to stay in the Manor, and if anything happens, you will follow Clark's lead."

The boy was still eyeing him with narrow eyes and stiffness around the usually smiling mouth.

"Dick…"

"…I promise."

"And don't get creative in your ways to fulfil your promise."

"…. Hnh."

Bruce turned to his father figure, who was listening with a worried frown.

"You too, Alfred. If anything happens, your and Dick's safety are the only things of importance. Promise me you will take good care of yourself and let Clark help you."

"… Certainly, Master Bruce."

Bruce turned back to scrutinize the boy. Even though he was at the moment displayed all signs of a sulking teenager, years before his Dick Grayson had hit the phase, he couldn't help a sinking feeling at the thought that he was, effectively, on his way to kill this Dick. Both the boy and Alfred had experienced things his versions never had, and they were already on the way to become different persons from the people he remembered.

No, don't go there he, admonished himself. If I stay, I might just as well say that that I'm killing everyone I know in my own time. I can't see it like that. It will be like waking up from a bad dream. And I don't even know how it works when those pesky imps change reality. Perhaps Dick and Alfred will still have lived through these weeks… God, however would that have changed them in my time.

But on the verge of leaving this time and place, and to permanently exchange the small boy in front of him for the adult version who was fully capable of staring down the Batman, he felt a sudden bout of tenderness for the youngster. It was still the boy who had come into his and Alfred's life and changed it completely forever, after all; a charmer and a ray of sunshine, a grieving child and a stubborn, cunning boy, all in one package.

He put a hand on Dick's shoulder, bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Dick… Did I ever tell you that you brought colour into our monochrome lives…"

The boy's eyes widened; great, now he had managed to scare him with an unusual show of affection. Bruce ruffled his hair and smiled as lightly as he could.

"Easy, son, I will see you soon. And then we will have a long talk, and I will tell you everything that's been worrying me. And that's a promise to you too, Alfred," he added with a glance over his shoulder.

He was telling the truth – if he failed to get home this way, he would tell Dick and Alfred and Clark about how he came from the future. But not everything; not the really bad things. About their estrangement or the deaths of multiple partners that was a constant weight on his conscience. If he claimed to be from only a couple of years in the future, he could stick pretty much to the truth for that period…

But would he truly manage to settle down and let go of his past future… his home? And if he failed to get home this way, would he ever get another chance? Even if Clark or someone else could help him find a way, would he be able to look Dick and Alfred in the eyes and say goodbye when they knew they would cease to exist?

He shook himself out his troubled reveries; he had to confront that if and when it happened. But it wouldn't happen – because he would get the blasted imp to set everything right.

"Don't worry too much, all right? I'm confident I can sort this out very soon. You and Alfred just let Clark keep an eye on you until I'm back."

Dick was still staring at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he rose from the couch and threw his arms around Bruce and buried his head against his chest.

"Be careful, Bruce," he said with a choked voice, half muffled by Bruce's clothes and half by emotions.

Bruce patted the boy's head awkwardly.

"I will, chum. I'll see you soon."

When Dick didn't let go, he let his arms slide around the boy while his eyes wandered. He tensed when he spotted a second mobile phone on the sofa; not the one he had given to Dick, the one with a tracker, but a simpler model. The boy must have been sitting on it…

His grip around Dick tightened for a moment; there was only one reason for his boy to have a second mobile hidden behind him. He wanted to keep it a secret from the adults; or at least from him. For all he knew, Dick and Alfred could be working together.

Did he use it to look for information on the Internet, to text or make calls he wanted to make sure Bruce couldn't trace? Was he planning something…

He took a slow, deep breath through his nose and reminded himself that just as the letter from the CPS, if he managed to get home, Dick's secret phone was unimportant. There would be time enough to look into it if he were indeed forced to stay.

When he straightened and loosened his grip, Dick reluctantly let go and sat down again. Bruce gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster before he slowly started to walk out of the room, giving Alfred a nod and a smile on the way. He felt both of them looking at him when he walked through the door, but he quickened his pace and never turned back.

* * *

 _The line with how Dick made_ colour _come into their monochrome lives is from Batman # 682, written by Grant Morrison._

 _And of course, Dick loves Robin Hood._

 _see on Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	43. Chapter 43

Back in the cave, Bruce changed into the Batsuit and turned all Batman. He promptly hacked into the Justice Society of America's communications system to put through a video call to Johnny Thunder, not even giving the man a chance to say "Hello".

"Johnny Thunder. I need your assistance."

"Um… Hi-ya, Batman. Long time no see... What can I do…?"

"I need the help of your Thunderbolt. Urgently."

"Right… Whatever you say, Bats… I'll get my pal over here," Johnny Thunder agreed, and called out into the room:

"Say you!" – the phonetic approximation of the magic words "cei-u" that gave him power over the Thunderbolt – "come here! I've got a little job for you."

It only took an instant before the screen of the Batcomputer was filled with a pinkish sparkle that proceeded to compress into a figure that looked like a flash with the upper body of something human-like; if you could imagine a human with pink skin, pointy ears and tiny flames sparkling all around.

"You rang, o Master of the muddled and mundane?"

"Batman there needs a hand."

"Aye-aye! What kind of a hand – living, dead, human, fish...?"

"He needs your help, you idiot!"

"Then why didn't you say so?"

Batman ground his teeth. He wanted nothing better than to growl "Enough!" and start giving orders, but he was the one who was asking for help.

"Right… Batman, you never said how we could help?"

He hesitated. He had stubbornly refused to divulge that his consciousness had travelled back in time to his surrogate father, his eldest boy, and his best friend. But he was going to have to spell it out to this pair of… clowns.

Trying to console himself with that as soon as he got back to his own time, none of this would – probably – ever have happened, he took a deep breath and explained.

"I'm from fourteen years into the future. I had the misfortune to meet an imp from the Fifth Dimension by the name of Miss Gsptlsnz, visiting Earth. She thought she was doing me a favour by sending me back into my own past. I need to get in contact with her. I'm not familiar with how time works in your dimension, Thunderbolt, but I need to find her after our last encounter."

Johnny Thunder whistled and scratched his head.

"Wow, that is one tall story…" When Batman glared at him, he hurriedly added, "But completely believable, of course!"

Batman swallowed, feeling his heartbeat pick up before he asked the critical question – the question he was scared to hear the answer to.

"Can it be done?"

"… Well, answer the man!"

Thunderbolt crossed his arms and put up his nose; Johnny Thunder sighed and made a gesture of hopelessness.

"… Say you…"

"Can it be done here, can it be done there… You could at least use my name, instead of calling me "it". Rude!"

Batman clenched his teeth and inched closer to the computer screen. The jinn seemed to get the message because he straightened up and nodded.

"Anyway, chief, it can be done, all right. I know about the gal in question; a bit of a looney, even for my of dimension, but it takes all kinds…"

"Then perhaps you would oblige me and take me to her," said Batman, making an effort to use polite words even if his demeanour probably didn't match.

There was a brief pause in the conversation until Johnny Thunder asked:

"Do you want Thunderbolt to come and get you in your secret lair? Or do you intend to take that fancy plane of yours and fly here?"

Again, Batman bit down and reminded himself that the whole point was to undo everything that had happened since he came back in time. And it wasn't like imps, and other creatures from the Fifth Dimension couldn't find the Batcave if they wanted to, anyhow; that he knew from unpleasant experience.

"It would be convenient if Thunderbolt could come here..."

"Right-o! Thunderbolt, get to the Batcave and transport the man where he wants to go."

"Your wish is my command – as soon as you say those two little magic words."

"Say you! Get on it, you dolt!"

Over the data link, Batman saw the jinn make a mocking salute and start saying, "I'm off and..." before he disappeared. A second later, the Batcave was lit by the pink light reflexes, and Thunderbolt took form in front of him and finished the sentence, "... running, chief!"

Before he could acknowledge the jinn, Batman found himself unceremoniously gripped by his cape. The cave seemed to blur together to a spinning vortex, and all his senses started screaming that he was free falling; after several seconds, it felt as if every moment stopped abruptly.

When he came to his senses enough to be aware of his surroundings, he was sitting on a gravel path, by the feet if the imp that he had spent so much time looking for. Batman rose to his feet, trying to look as dignified as he could under the circumstances.

"A dissatisfied customer for you, o ruler of mischief," Thunderbolt said with a sloppy salute and promptly disappeared in his customary pink light-show.

Once again, Batman grated his teeth; this time at the thought that the jinn had left him there without a way back, if worst came to worst. He doggedly pushed back the thought; he was going to persuade the imp to take him home. Home to a Manor with pets in every corner and a cave with bickering kids – and more pets...

He straightened and fixed his sternest glare at the imp, who had by all accounts been out on a stroll in a pretty ordinary looking park. If it weren't for the shapes of the buildings outside the park, with more round shapes than any Earth buildings he'd ever seen, and slightly different plant life, he could have believed he was still in his own dimension.

The imp still looked female but older and not as tall as he remembered. However, he had no choice but to trust that Thunderbolt had taken him to the right individual.

"I trust you remember me? And that you transported me fourteen years back in time, against my expressed wish? I need to get back to my own time."

"You do look kind of familiar, dear boy, but I can't quite place you..."

"Let me refresh your memory. You came to my Earth, with the intent of doing a bit of sightseeing," – Batman spoke the words as if they very poisonous in his mouth – "and pay Superman a visit. You ended up in Gotham instead, and I had the misfortune to find you in a warehouse. You claimed you wanted to do me a favour and you... Somehow you changed reality and sent me back to my youth. You must reverse whatever you did and restore my reality."

"Ooh, yes... It has been a while, you understand, but I do remember," said Miss Gsptlsnz, tilting her head as if she was thinking hard.

Her shape started to get blurry and eventually everything around her swirled as if she were wrapped in a small tornado, but nothing around her was affected. When her figure settled down again, she looked exactly as she had done in the Gotham warehouse, tall and with long, red hair.

"You were obviously miserable and dissatisfied with your life..."

"I was nothing of the kind," Batman growled. "I might have been... slightly unhappy with a recent... argument with one of the boys, but I never wanted to exchange my life there for something else."

"I beg to differ, young man. Your longing for an earlier time was quite clear."

"Humans frequently experience feelings of nostalgia; that doesn't mean we really want to turn back the clock!"

"Yet history seems to rewrite itself ever so often, in your world. I can't keep track of all the stories I've heard about dead people who turns up alive. Just a few weeks ago, someone was talking about… something or the other… Now, what was it…"

Batman didn't feel up to discussing the finer points of history-changing events with an imp that could, by all accounts, perform things like that without even snapping her fingers.

"I. Want. My. Old. Life. Back. It might not have been perfect, but that is how it should be."

"I don't understand why you're so difficult about this, my dear boy," Miss Gsptlsnz complained. "You get to have a second chance. You can let the first Robin grow up without resenting you; you can choose to keep your boys away from the vigilante life. You have the opportunity to find and save more children – I know you feel regret about how that Cassandra girl was raised. You could even marry someone nice and actually raise children of your own from their birth instead of picking them up half-grown."

"Or I could make a mistake and lose them another way. They were all safe and alive before you changed my reality. You will revoke this!"

The red-haired woman – an imp that could take any form she wanted, Batman reminded himself – looked at him consideringly. Like a high society lady trying to figure out the best way to get on Bruce Wayne's good side.

"Perhaps I did a mistake… I should have sent you further back, to your childhood. Yes, I can't understand why I didn't think of that that right away – you must have been happier with your parents alive, after all. You could even prevent them from getting killed in the first place…" she said with the content look of someone who thinks she's finally got it.

"No! Don't even say it!" Batman cut her off abruptly.

He didn't dare to get the choice. To see his parents again... but as a child. He couldn't stand losing them some other way, and who knows what it would mean to his future kids. How could he train for a life as Batman with his parents alive, would he even want to dedicate his whole life to it – because the creation of Batman had been fueled by his obsession with losing his parents and preventing the same thing to happen to others, he knew that. Even if he wanted to do good, would he be prepared to make all the sacrifices necessary? Would he be able to, with his parents in his life?

Damian would certainly be lost for him, forever, even if he could find and help the others. And wasn't he right here, just because he had realised how impossible it was to try and live your life a second time?

The woman could evidently play with realities as she pleased; he had no bargaining power over her, could not intimidate her, probably not trick her into doing what he wanted. But she seemed to be benevolent – at least, she saw herself as benevolent, even if it was completely misplaced and ill-judged. Perhaps he had better ask nicely.

It wasn't the Batman's style to beg, but if that were his best option to get his world back, he would suck it up and grovel, he thought viciously.

"I miss my boys," he tried. "I almost got Robin killed a few weeks ago, trying to protect him from something I remembered happening. And I'm too different from when I was young; I can feel our relationship getting strained already. You took me from a place where I have all my kids, alive and well and sometimes even talking to me, and I'm afraid I will get them killed this time."

The imp cocked her head and looked thoughtfully at him; at least, she seemed to listen.

"Please. I miss the boys; I miss the dog and the cat and even the cow. There is probably a dragon living in my cave, but that's all right, as long as I've got the kids safe and sound. Just… please, undo whatever you've done."

This time, when the air around him started to crackle with light, Batman didn't try to avert his eyes or cover himself. He looked straight into it.

"Thank you," he whispered, hoping that she was indeed backtracking and that he would come to in a half-abandoned warehouse in the Gotham harbour.

* * *

 _This was a particularly tricky chapter to_ ground _in canon. Superman visited the Fifth Dimension once in the Silver age, but we're not told how he got there. That's why I turned my attention to Johnny Thunder / Thunderbolt. The problem is that they, and the Justice Society of America, have undergone several changes with different DC reboots and whatnot. In the Golden Age, however, the JSA was alive and kicking and one of the members was Johnny Thunder, who had control over a magical jinn from the Fifth Dimension, Yz / Thunderbolt. The Justice League started in the Silver Age, and after that, the JSA was seen as inhabitants of Earth-Two._

 _The JSA has in later days sometimes been revived and existed parallel with the Justice League. Johnny Thunder seems to have vanished from existence once and died at least once, as far as I can make out. In Rebirth, he has been seen as an old man who probably has lost control of the Thunderbolt. Which means he couldn't play the role I assign him in this story… Much as it pains_ me, _since I like to keep as much within the current canon as possible, I couldn't find a better solution. For the purpose of this story, JSA in Batman's history is an alternative to the Justice League, and Johnny Thunder is a member._

 _Johnny Thunder and Thunderbolt are, by the way, a few months older than Dick Grayson. They made their first appearance in January 1940._

 _See a glimpse of the Fifth Dimension (Action Comics 273) and Jimmy Thunder and Thunderbolt on my Tumblr._

 _Have you forgotten about Miss Gsptlsnz? Never fear, my old blog post is still there._

 _Illustrated footnotes on Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	44. Chapter 44

Bruce Wayne woke up in his bed, with an unusually heavy head and with the sun shining through cracks in the curtain. He groaned and closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the glaring light.

"Whatever did I do last night," he mumbled, trying to remember.

An overlong patrol? A too late night at a gala where he mistakenly drank alcohol? A tiresome mission with the Justice League?

Slowly, the thoughts fell in place, and he threw himself out of bed.

"Gsptlsnz!" he exclaimed, as if it were a curse, and rushed over to the nearest mirror, almost sagging with relief when he saw a face with fine wrinkles around the blue eyes and furrows in the forehead, and he could swear there were some grey hairs among the black at his temples.

Still, that was not proof enough that everything was as it should.

"Where is that phone," he muttered and looked around for a device that could tell him the date and year. He found it beside his bed – a sleek, slim smartphone with technology that was at least a decade ahead of what he'd last seen – and checked; yes, he was indeed back in his own time, the day after his first encounter with the imp.

How on earth had he returned home in the night? Had the imp sent him straight to bed or had he returned but lost his memory of the rest of the evening?

At least it was Sunday, just as it should be. Eager to make sure that his home and family were as he remembered them, Bruce rushed down for breakfast in a much more hurried manner than an ordinary weekend.

He met his youngest coming out from the breakfast room. Bruce was not usually a demonstrative person, but he felt a sudden urge to grab and hold the boy; as if seeing and hearing wasn't enough to convince him that he was home and that it indeed was Damian in front of him. He fought it down; such an out of character action would certainly raise a lot of awkward questions.

"Damian," he greeted with a smile.

"Father."

"I'm sorry I missed having breakfast with you."

"It's quite all right, Father, I'm sure you needed your sleep. You must have returned late," the boy answered, in his trademark polite but cool manner.

"Do you know where Dick is?"

"Tt. Where else? In that miserable disgrace of a flat in Blüdhaven."

"…We quarrelled, didn't we?"

"... Are you unwell, Father?"

"I'm fine. Did we quarrel?" Bruce insisted. After well over a month in another reality, he needed to know that what he remembered had actually happened.

"Of course you fought. You told him he was reckless, and he said your overprotectiveness was absurd, even for you, and then you kept going. Don't you remember?"

"… Of course, I do," Bruce said automatically, even though he couldn't remember any details.

"He jumped first and looked for somewhere to land later, like he always does," he added; it was a pretty safe bet that he would have growled something along those lines to Dick during an argument, never mind what the cause of the disagreement had been initially or whether there was any truth to the accusation.

Bruce had never felt so relieved to have fought with one of his boys in all his life – since it meant that what he remembered had really happened. Something of his feelings must have shown, however, because Damian got a disappointed look on his face and turned on his heels to walk away, not bothering to say goodbye.

"So much for a happy homecoming," Bruce mumbled with an inward sigh.

His stomach yearned for a steady Sunday breakfast, but he was in too much of a rush to check up on everyone to contemplate sitting down. He went on to the kitchen where he found Alfred; as busy as ever and – thankfully – looking significantly elder than when they had last met.

"Good morning, Master Bruce. I'm glad you have slept in a bit today. If you sit down, I will bring your breakfast."

"No, please, Alfred. I'd just like something I can take down to the cave."

He almost wavered in front of Alfred's obvious disapproval but insisted.

"I'm sorry, I have a lot on my mind right now. As long as the boys aren't here to keep me company, I just want something fast. I'll sit down for a proper meal later when I've caught up with all of them."

"Very well, sir," the butler said, unimpressed, and proceeded to take out ingredients to make a fresh protein shake from the refrigerator and pantry.

Bruce waited by the kitchen table, shifting his weight between his legs and staring out through the window.

"Is there something on your mind, Master Bruce?"

"… Hmh?"

"You seem a bit preoccupied. Sir."

"Mhm. I'm afraid I must seem a bit addle-brained, Alfred, but you wouldn't know where Jason and Tim are, do you?"

The butler turned from his tasks to lift one eyebrow at his employer and surrogate son.

"If you want to talk to them, I believe you are in luck, Master Bruce. Master Timothy was going to spend some time in the library, and Master Jason came in early in the morning to tinker with his bike in the cave. He came up for a cup of coffee but refused my invitation to breakfast; he claimed he was here because the cave was a lot cheaper than visiting a garage, even if, I quote, the temperature and atmosphere left something to be desired. I can't be certain he hasn't already departed, of course, but I'd like to think that he would come up to say goodbye."

"… Dick's the only one not at home, then."

"Master Richard would no doubt protest that he is indeed at home – in his own home – but in essence, you are correct, sir."

"Alfred… I quarrelled with Dick a few days ago… I'm a bit foggy – what was the real reason for our fight? It can't have been just whatever happened during patrol."

This time, the butler turned to look at him with a frown.

"If you are experiencing memory lapses, perhaps we ought to call Doctor Thompkins, sir. Did you suffer a concussion or any other injuries during patrol last night? I never did see you return home."

"No, that's not necessary, Alfred. It's just that I slept more heavily than usual. The fight…?"

"It's not really my place to say, Master Bruce."

"…"

"But I fancy it might have something to do with the surveillance cameras you set up in his home some weeks ago."

"Yes, of curse… Don't tell me you agree with him, Alfred? He's a Wayne heir, and he insists on living, openly, in an insecure location in Blüdhaven. I must have some way to keep him safe."

"I'm sure we all want him safe and sound, sir. However, putting up security cameras that reach most of his rooms and neglecting to discuss it with the young Master can hardly fail to make him opposed to the idea, can it?"

Bruce couldn't find a good reply to that; he meant to admit defeat by simply leaving and look for the boys. Instead, he stood there, staring out through the window.

"I've been back in time, Alfred. I met a magical imp last evening. She somehow took me back in time to when Dick was a kid and left me in my younger body. Fourteen years ago," he could hear himself say.

Alfred was quiet for a while before he answered.

"I suppose it wouldn't be the strangest thing I've heard in your service, sir."

"...I didn't want it to happen. I tried to find a way back home as soon as I got there, but then I thought that as long as I was there, I could make things better. And some things were so much easier when I knew exactly what to look for and who had done what. I thought perhaps it would be best for everyone if I stayed there and avoided all the mistakes I have made over the years. That I could help Jason and Tim another way, and keep them safe from being Robin, and that I could stop the Joker from shooting Barbara… But it turned out I just made new mistakes. I almost got Dick killed when I meant to save him from what I remembered had happened. God, whatever made me think I was competent to raise a child."

Bruce was still staring out through the window; in the reflection, he could see that Alfred was watching him.

"Do you remember some weeks when I behaved strangely, Alfred?"

"… As opposed to your normal habits, of dressing up as a bat and taking children with you to fight crime every night…?"

"I know you noticed something was different about me; I tried to act as my younger self, but I'm just too different now. I don't know what I thought when I let Dick go out in that Robin suit… You were surprised I spent so much time on the computer. A few times, I scared Dick when I was… I used more violence than the situation called for, I suppose. I asked for your help to do a completely new Robin suit, covering arms and legs, and he got furious with me. Clark came to talk to you; he was worried about how different I was, too."

"You have always had periods of moodiness, Master Bruce. But I can't say that I remember what you're talking about. I have no recollection of making a covering Robin suit at that time."

"You would have remembered that one, I think… I even wanted to put a sort of a cowl on it."

"… I certainly would have remembered that, sir."

"… I sincerely hope you're right, Alfred, and that it never happened. I thought about staying, I really did, but then I got scared… I heard someone from the Court of Owls talking about Dick, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop them if they came for him… Then I found out someone I was supposed to save had been killed. And… Damian would never have been born if I've stayed. I talked the imp into revoking what she'd done. Now I just want everything to be back the way it should be."

Alfred picked up the protein shake that had been standing on the countertop for quite some time and handed it to the younger man, hesitating, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Are you certain that you really did meet an imp this night, sir? Perhaps you've had an unusually vivid dream? Or you might have been exposed to some sort of hallucinogenic? It wouldn't be the first time, after all. I still remember that time you and Master Richard almost ran me over, thinking I was an elephant."

Bruce accepted the glass with one hand and ran his fingers through his hair, letting his eyes flicker away from the butler and back again.

"That's what I thought too, first, when it had happened. But I can recall every day for more than a month; I've never had such a vivid and detailed hallucination before. It felt so real…"

"I see. I suppose you have better check on your boys, then. I hope to see you back for dinner."

Bruce hesitated on the way to the door.

"How about everyone else? Cassandra and Barbara and Duke and the others... Are they safe?"

"If you require a complete report about all the members of your nightly family, as it were, we will be standing here by Afternoon Tea, Master Bruce. As far as I know, everyone is safe and sound."

"Hnh. Thank you, Alfred."

* * *

 _My apologies to anyone who was looking forward to Bruce staying in his past forever, creating an AU where Dick grows up to be a hotheaded, distrustful and closed-hearted mess, thanks to "modern" Bruce's influence…_

 _I don't doubt that Bruce could have helped Jason to be safe and get a better life. He would have found Cass, eventually, and got here away from Cain when she was young enough to get a new start and talked sense into the Drake's. (Until some random accident happened to any of them when Bruce would, of course, get all angsty...) Though I'm pretty sure he would make a mess of things with Dick._

 _If you've read this fic all the way here, I guess I don't have to remind you about how many allies and protegées Batman has had in Gotham during his career. (I'll save you the link to my Tumblr post this time.) Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, Duke Thomas, Harold Allnut, Calvin Rose, to name a few… I've probably missed some, and I don't know if/how everyone exists in the current continuum, but I'm sure Bruce does and would have done his best for everyone. ;-)_

 _But Damian would never be born, because of course genetics wouldn't play along, and he would be a completely different person if Bruce had raised him, anyway. I'm far too fond of the DickDami dynamic duo to leave it at that. So, yeah, here we are. I really don't think Bruce would be willing to let him go in the long run, either._

 _Batman and DickRobin were subjected to a sub-liminal-thought-control device (because what else?) that made them see wild animals in the Batcave in Batman # 209._

 _Bruce's habit of looking away from a person when he's talking about something unpleasant is from Robin Year One, when he fires Dick, and from Batman #_ 416, _when he admits he was lonely when Dick left. But to be fair, he doesn't always do that. After all, sometimes he looks straight at the person and shouts and punches them instead…_

 _I've also finished my post about Alfred and my mixed feelings about him._

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	45. Chapter 45

Bruce found Tim in the library, just as Alfred had predicted. He stopped in the door, watching the youth sitting behind the desk, reading intently on his computer screen and occasionally doodling on a note pad.

Tim Drake had become Robin because he was convinced that Batman needed a Robin, and Bruce knew that there had been a time when the boy had thought he would do his period as Robin and then get on with a normal life.

But now there was a new Robin – there had been for quite some time – and Tim was still here, still using the Robin name and still going out risking his life most nights of the week, Bruce thought with a pang of sadness. A part of him was happy to have Tim around; another part hoped that the boy would make a life for himself outside of vigilante business.

Out of the boys, Bruce was convinced that he was the one best suited for a normal life, who could put it all behind him and be happy and successful somewhere else. And Tim could do so much good in another capacity – as a businessman, or a lawyer, detective, teacher – in politics, even; Gotham could certainly use an elected official like Tim Drake to develop in the right direction.

He was stirred from his musings when Tim, without looking up from his reading, asked:

"Did you need something, Bruce?"

"… No, no. I just wanted to… see how you're doing."

Tim tore his eyes from the screen, gave him a quick glance and raised his eyebrows.

"You look tired; did you have a difficult night? I don't know why you insisted on going out by yourself yesterday…"

"…Patrol was as dull as an evening in Gotham can ever be," Bruce replied.

Up until the meeting with Miss Gsptlsnz, it was entirely accurate. He made an effort to remember why he had insisted on going out alone, in the evening that was simultaneously only hours and over a month ago.

It had been because of the fight with Dick, the night before; hadn't it. He had wanted to be alone for a while, not having the patience to work with an annoyed Damian; and taking Red Robin but leaving Robin at home on a weekend night would have ignited another heated argument. Better to go on patrol alone and order both youngsters to take a night off.

"Are you looking for something in particular? It's not work related, I guess, if you're content with an ordinary laptop?"

The third Robin frowned into the screen for a second, then glanced up to give his mentor a reassuring grin.

"Oh, I'm just checking out some universities and stuff. Steph and I have been talking about it. I don't know if that's where I'm heading right now, but… I'm pretty sure I want to be a nerdy college student, at some point."

Perhaps dreams can come true, Bruce thought, taking a few steps into the room.

"I think it would be fantastic if you decided to go, Tim," he said, not bothering to try to hide the eagerness in his voice. "You've given a lot of yourself for this… mission. You've earned to try another road, away from this life. That's all I ever wanted for all of you."

"Dick did go to college for a while…"

Bruce huffed.

"And he could' t stay away from his nightlife. If you go – and I'll give you whatever support you might need, Tim, even though I'm sure you can handle it all on your own – I sincerely hope that you concentrate on studying. And being a student. You can have a lot of fun if you don't study all the time – or so I'm told. I wasn't exactly a poster child for a fun-loving student, I'm afraid."

Tim flashed him a quick smile.

"I don't think any of us are cut out for that particular part."

"I'd like to think you could be the first in the family to manage it. But I'll leave you in peace, to think over what you want to do. Just remember, I'm here if you need anything."

"Sure, Bruce – thanks," Tim said, already concentrating over the screen again.

Bruce stayed in the door another few seconds, looking at the boy with a small smile on his lips before he turned and walked back in the corridor to his study and the secret entrance down to the Batcave, where he hoped to find another of his protégés, the current Red Hood.

He had only seen a glimpse of a young Jason during his visit back in time. The second Robin had had a difficult childhood, and he hadn't had much time in the Manor to make up for that before he was killed by the Joker.

Died on the job, got better, as Jason sometimes liked to put it. His comeback to life and Gotham had been tainted in many ways, but Bruce would never cease to be grateful for the second chance the boy had got – and Bruce, too. By now, Jason had made a tentative peace with Bruce and the other Robins; that was quite a feat, after all the bad blood and violence that had been running between Jason and the rest of the bats.

Again, Alfred had been correct; he found Jason in the cave, tinkering with a huge, black motorcycle with red details. He seemed completely focused on his task, not even batting an eyelid in his former mentor's direction when the older man stopped a few meters away.

Bruce stood, hesitating, wondering how to strike up a conversation. Jason ignoring him and working on a bike was certainly just what to expect, but hardly enough to prove that the aborted time-travel hadn't left any permanent mark.

"Jason."

"Bruce," the young man answered evenly, without looking up.

Well, nothing out of the ordinary there, but not much progress, Bruce thought with an inward sigh; wondering why it sometimes was so difficult to know what to say.

"Beautiful bike," he tried.

"The best."

"If you need anything for it, we'll order it for you," he offered, almost shyly. Jason was as likely to accept gracefully as blow a lid and shout about taking care of himself, depending on his mood for the day.

"Thanks. I already did. Used one of your hundred or so credit cards."

He remained, uncertain of how he could find the right words to impress upon Jason that he was always welcome, no matter what had happened in the past. The fact that he condemned things that Jason had done did not mean that he was condemning him.

Jason still had insecurities about his place in the family after the feud he had started after his resurrection; Bruce knew that – what he didn't know was how to address that.

If things had been different; if Bruce had managed to help Jason to work through his anger and if he had been able to save the boy from the Joker, Jason would likely have been the one sitting in a library. As a boy, he had loved school, and Bruce was sure he would have headed straight to college. But the trauma of getting murdered and revived, and the rage that the Lazarus pit had lit inside the young man, had put a stop to that.

Perhaps that would change, with time. Perhaps he could find a way to encourage Jason to pick up his studies…

The young man in question kept on working on his bike, ignoring the brooding visitor, but after a few minutes, he put down the tools, sighed, sat up and turned to look straight at Bruce.

"Listen, old man, I don't know if there's something particular on your mind, but since you're standing there, I've got a piece of advice you probably don't want to hear. You really need to get your act together. Not that I care or anything, but the kid looks like he's caught up in a divorce whenever you and Dick tear into each other. If the two of you can't disagree like civilized people, at least have your fights when the kid's gone to bed, all right?"

Obviously not expecting an answer, Jason crouched down again and turned his attention back to the bike. Bruce pursed his lips, experiencing a weird mix of feelings. One part relief because it sounded very much like what the Jason he knew would say; for all his tough shell, the youth had a soft spot for children. And one part annoyance that Jason stuck his nose in things, even if it probably was a fair assessment of the situation.

He eventually grunted something and walked away; he wasn't going to solve the problem of the young man's insecurities right this moment. And besides, he did have something more pressing to take care of.

Having assured himself that his two middle boys were as he remembered them, and content that Damian also seemed like his old self during their short exchange upstairs, the next step was to visit Blüdhaven and check up on the oldest. He was on his way to leave the cave and take one of his daytime cars when a movement of something big in the shadow far away from the central part of the cave caught his eye, and he drifted over to see what was going on.

He found his youngest, surrounded by his very unique collection of pets; and never mind what he vaguely remembered telling the imp, he was actually wondering whether his eyes deceived him.

"Damian, why is there a dragon in the Batcave?"

"Because it helped me, of course."

"I remember that, but why is it still here?"

"It obviously likes it here," the boy said shortly; as if this was the most stupid question he had heard for quite some time.

"… Aren't you afraid that it will eat Bat-cow?"

Damian cocked his head – not something he had picked up from either of his parents or Alfred. A pure Dick Grayson tilt of the head. At least that much was normal, Bruce thought.

"Of course not, Father. They enjoy each other's company. I am by no means certain that the dragon will want to stay forever, though. It has been exploring the cave system – perhaps it will leave to look for more of its kind."

"… All right… Good – I suppose."

"… Are you certain you are not unwell, Father?"

"Quite certain, Damian. But thanks for asking."

Damian kept looking wearily up at him. Think Wayne, he thought to himself. What does he want…? My approval?

All of them had wanted that, perhaps they still did, and it was so long ago since it had been easy for him to show how proud he was.

"I hope you had a good sleep this night… I'd like you with me this evening."

"Tt. Of course," Damian said; he looked pleased, but there was still something guarded in his eyes.

Could it be what Jason had been talking about…?

"I'll see you later. I need to go to Blüdhaven and see Dick," he fished.

Damian's face cleared perceptively for a moment – oh yes, Bruce thought and didn't bother to suppress a smile, the boy wanted to see his brother all right. Another sign that things might just be back as they should be.

"Should you be driving in your condition? Perhaps I ought to accompany you?"

Bruce put a large hand in his youngest's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"No Damian, I really need to talk to Dick alone. I'll try to coax him back for dinner so that you can see him then; how's that?"

"That is… acceptable. But make certain you do not have an accident on the way. If you don't even remember what you said to him two days ago, I'm not sure you are safe on the road."

* * *

 _I'm now accepting bets on whether there will be hits or hugs when Bruce and Dick meet again! Considering how much more often they fight compared to how many hugs they have shared (check out my list on Tumblr), the odds are in favour of hits..._

 _The dragon is from Nightwing vol 4, # 42. "Dragon's duel." (By Jackson Lanzing and Collin Kelly, art by Jorge Corona.) I don't believe it has been seen since, but you can't convince me that Damian wouldn't make a place for it next to Batcow._

 _I'm kind of fascinated with fanfic who portrays the adopted (or whatever) Wayne boys (and Cassandra, if they write about pre-Flashpoint) as a close-knit family who shares a home. The way I see it, they are not all close because they have not all lived together. As far as I can see, the only ones who have at least for a while lived together are Dick and Damian and Tim and Damian, and possibly Tim and Cassandra._

 _I've written a long blog post about that family (as opposed to the Bat family), too…_

 _There is also the post I made some time ago about Jason, or rather the two very different Jason Todds that are in canon. The Dick Grayson clone who loved school and the tire-stealing street kid with anger issues._

 _Tim does say to Dick, in Nightwing vol 2 # 6, that he doesn't see himself being Robin forever. He's probably changed his mind a few times after that, but I'm no expert on Tim. And more recently, Tim was headed for Ivy University (in Detective Comics # 981, I think), but from what I've read he and Stephanie never did go to university but instead went out to look for "diverging timelines" and ended up in the new Young Justice comic book… With Tim as Robin, which disappointed at least me because I wish DC would let him mature into another identity. Of actually go civilian and study for a while, that would be a nice change._

 _However, the rumour is that Tim will take on another identity soon. I'm hoping this means Tim will finally, almost ten years after Damian became Robin, be able to let the junior identity go._

 _Also, I've made some very small editing in earlier chapters. Just a few words here and there that I realized (sometimes with the help of your comments) could be phrased better._

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


	46. Chapter 46

This is it, Bruce thought, standing outside the front door of Dick's home in Blüdhaven. The other boys shouldn't have been changed by his short visit to his own youth; they had never met him there. But Dick had lived a different life those weeks – if they had ever happened. He took a deep breath to calm himself when his hand went for the doorbell. The goddamn Batman, he thought ironically. Shaking like a leaf to see his original partner.

The door opened within the minute, and a surprised Dick looked out.

"Bruce? What's wrong?"

"Does anything has to be wrong for me to come to visit?"

"You never come here, so what am I supposed to think?"

Bruce could have pointed out that actually, he had been here, the last time only a few weeks ago – as Batman, installing security cameras – but he decided it would be counterproductive to bring that particular visit up.

Dick shrugged and opened the door to let his visitor in.

He looked about right; his hair a bit too long, dressed in a Superman t-shirt of course, but then again, with a Batman plushie in the sofa. Always one for equal opportunities.

He let his eyes wander over the young man. He could see a lot of the little boy that he had, somehow, spent the last few weeks with. And yet, so much had changed – and not everything was because of what adulthood will do to you.

Dick looked at him wearily, and he felt a pang of regret at the thought that there had been a time when the boy had looked at him with nothing than admiration and love. Bruce had not only let it slip through his fingers; he had even encouraged it to come to an end, in his effort to control their separation.

He stood awkwardly a few steps into the room, shifting his weight from leg to leg and looking around the place. It was sparsely furnished and not a complete mess, and he did not doubt that the young man knew where to find what he wanted, but he knew that Dick refused to let the absolute orderliness of their night-life rule his personal sphere. Something about letting chaos into his life…

For once, Bruce felt he needed to make an effort to make small talk, to make Dick comfortable. He couldn't say anything about the flat or the neighbourhood, because that might spark Dick's anger again. And not about their night-work, which ruled out pretty much all of their common acquaintances…

"… How's it going at work?"

Dick grunted, and Bruce felt as if ice was dropped into his veins.

"Don't!"

Dick gave him a surprised look.

"What?"

"Don't grunt. When did you start grunting? You like to talk."

"…. Seriously, Bruce? You're lecturing me on grunting?"

"… I'm just wondering when you picked up the habit…."

"Seriously?" Dick said again, disbelief all over his face. "How could I grow up in your house and not learn that grunts are an acceptable form of communication?"

Grow up in your house, Bruce silently repeated to himself. It sounded…cold… awful, actually. Dick hadn't always described it like that. He had said "you're like a father to me", and "raised me", and "the L-word".

And Bruce had, no doubt, grunted in reply to avoid expressing any feelings with words.

"So… What can I do for you, Bruce?"

He took a few more steps into the room, glancing out through the window to avoid looking at Dick when he prepared to start talking. When he realised what he was doing, he forced himself to turn towards his boy; he should be brave enough to look at people when he brought up sensitive topics.

"You're going to think this sounds… strange, Dick, even for our line of work. But I need to ask you if you remember something that happened about fourteen years ago. We were on a routine patrol and went in to stop a break-in at the First National, the bank office that used to be on Andru Street."

Dick was looking at him with raised eyebrows; wondering where all this was going, no doubt.

"And I need to know – did your head got grazed by a bullet, or did you get a knife in your back?"

Dick stared incredulously at him, and it took several seconds before he collected himself enough to answer.

"Bruce, tell me you didn't come here to ask me if I got shot or stabbed or fell from a window on an ordinary case – fourteen years ago. How should I know? I can't remember all the run-ins we had with the loonies of Gotham. You and your perfect memory might remember every detail from every case, but you must forgive me for being a mere mortal."

He had meant to be patient and act like the adult one; he really had. But he couldn't help frowning, and the harsh words seemed to come from his mouth of their own volition when his temper got the better of him, and he fell into that cursed, familiar pattern.

"I need you to act your age for once, Dick. I had hoped you had outgrown that chip on your shoulder by now."

He was ready to bite his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth, but of course, it was already too late. Dick took a step closer to him, with clenched fists and jaw thrust forward and tension lines around clear blue eyes.

"…Yes, Bruce. I suppose I know what you're talking about. I confess I was upset. You replaced me with someone younger after you'd said that Robin was too dangerous for me, even though I'd done it since I was a kid. You kicked me out and told me to leave the key. I'm sorry I wasn't mature enough at the time to understand that you did it because you were scared and lonely and grieving. But you're old enough to be a grandfather now so would you please let it go."

"Grandfather!? You don't mean to say…?"

"No! God, Bruce, it was only a figure of speech."

"…"

"Anyway, even if I was going to have a child, you're hardly in a position to talk… I mean, Damian is the best thing you ever did, but you didn't exactly plan on having him."

"Hnh," Bruce grumbled.

Have I learned nothing, he thought tiredly. I spent weeks in my past trying to learn from earlier mistakes. Surely I can learn to make a better future, instead of a new past.

The temperamental explosion hade made Dick spend his worst ire. He was standing with his arms crossed and his posture stiff, with his eyes narrow in anger instead of creased by a smile, like they so often were – like they should be, damn it! – but at least he was relatively collected. And if it were one thing that Bruce had realised during his time-displacement, it was that if he could avoid fueling Dick's temper, the worst storm would already have passed.

He desperately searched for the right words to convey that he wasn't here to criticise the younger man for not measuring up or to control his life – the former he knew was Dick's deepest fear, and the latter was the thing he resented the most – but nothing he thought of sounded right.

Talented as he was, when it came to feelings, he didn't have a way with words. Some of his worst moments around his family had been when he reacted with violent actions instead of finding the right words to express himself. He was not going to do that again, not ever, he swore to himself vehemently, never again. But there were other physical actions that could substitute a lack of words, and he slowly took the last step to bridge the gap between them and raised his arms to drag Dick in for a hug.

He knew his eldest had lived his early years with a family where touching and hugs were a matter of course; in stark contrast to his life in the Manor – because, Bruce had to face it, Dick's new family consisted of an emotionally repressed bunch, from a surrogate grandfather with the stiffest upper lip possible, to a little brother groomed to be an assassin.

With Dick's slightly stiff body firmly enclosed by his arms, he started talking.

"I turned down a chance to save my parents. I was taken back in time to when you were a young Robin, by this meddling imp, and I almost got you killed when I tried to prevent a shot from grazing your skull as I remembered, but you got a knife in your back instead. And when I demanded to be brought back home, she offered to make me a child again, and try to save them, and I said no," Bruce heard himself say.

He hadn't meant to tell that particular bit of information to anyone. It was too painful to even think about, but the words came out anyway.

"I had to ask Clark to help me find the blasted imp – she was from the Fifth Dimension, right up his alley – and he told me to call Johnny Thunder and the Thunderbolt, so I finally got to her. She thought she was kind when she offered to give me a chance to keep my parents safe. But I wanted to come home, and in the end, she sent me. I woke up this morning in my bed, but I remember spending over a month in the past, and I need to know if it ever happened."

He could feel Dick squirm in his arms, and loosened his grip with a forlorn feeling. But the younger man only pulled back enough to be able to look into Bruce's eyes, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"… I'm – surprised, Bruce. I always thought you would change this life in a heartbeat, to get your parents back."

Bruce tightened his grip again and rested his chin on the black hair of the first Boy Wonder.

"I will always miss them... and wish I could have saved them… But I suppose it's... it's time to accept that I can't have everything I want. I can't both have a life where I grow up with them and preserve all the good things I have right now. And when it came right down to it… I wasn't prepared to pay the price…"

He paused for a second before he hurried on to say the words that had been burning on his tongue ever since that afternoon in the cave; before they went to the reception and staying in his past finally became impossible.

"I'm sorry I failed to tell you how much you meant to me. You saved me so many times, in so many ways… I should have adopted you as soon as you'd let me."

Dick stayed silent while his arms moved around Bruce's waist, and his body slowly relaxed. When he finally talked, it was in a low and strained voice.

"I'm sorry for being an ass, Bruce… That… means a lot, to hear you say it. You've been a father to me in all the ways that matter. I wish I could tell you want you want to know, but I don't remember that case at all. And I can't recall being stabbed badly at the time. We could look and see if I have a scar where it should be. Or you could do the sensible thing and look it up in your reports. I'm surprised you didn't start there, to be honest."

It really was the practical thing to do, wasn't it? Bruce had thought about it but seeing it written down wasn't enough. He had to make sure things felt right. He knew he wouldn't be able to not look at his old reports, but the cold facts typed into the computer seemed less important than the feeling of rightness, that all the boys and his father-figure were as he remembered them.

"You know, right now, it doesn't feel all that important," he said, squeezing Dick for a few seconds before letting go and taking a step back.

It felt incredibly refreshing, in an almost frightening way, having poured his heart out. But there was still a question nagging at the back of his head…

"Hm. Say, chum… Did you ever have a second mobile when you were a kid? That you kept secret from me?"

"… Why, Bruce, whatever makes you think I only had one extra phone…? I did learn from the best, after all."

He met Bruce's gaze square on, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Bruce grunted, silently accepting that there were things even Batman wouldn't know.

He put a light hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Come on. I promised Damian I would bring you back for dinner. You're not going to make a liar out of me, are you?"

Dick cocked his head, and there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that told Bruce that in there, there was still something left of the boy that could find something to laugh about even in the cold darkness of the cave of an obsessed man.

"After all the trouble you had to get to this point, I suppose it would be ungrateful to refuse."

Bruce felt his face relax into a content smile. If Jason were still there, he would make a point to ask him to stay for Sunday dinner; he was certain that Tim already was planning to. The Waynes might not be the poster child for an average, happy family, but they were still a family. It would be nice to share a meal and make common memories that had nothing to do with murder, destruction or the end of the world.

"And, chum…. Don't tell the boy's, please. I'm not sure I know how to explain everything..." he added, slowly.

He still had some investigating and thinking to do, but so far, nothing seemed to have been changed by his brief stay in the past. Perhaps Miss Gsptlsnz had managed to reconstruct reality just as it had been.

Or, perhaps, it had indeed been a bizarre, bad dream after all…

THE END

* * *

 _And that's that. Thank you, everyone, who has been reading and commenting. I did know where I was heading when I started posting, but without your input, several things would never have made it into this fic. I certainly did not expect that it would take a year until I was ready to publish the last chapter. (Perhaps it dragged out longer than it should have, but I had fun… ) Creative writing certainly benefits from outside opinions!_

 _When I started writing, there was kind of a Batfamily that occasionally met up peacefully. Bruce had not proposed and been dumped (at least to/by Catwoman, he did have a fiancée from the very start and was dumped by her, after all), Dick had not been shot, Roy was still alive, Wally wasn't a mass murderer, etc. (And I certainly bought more DC comics than I do at the moment.) It feels like a long time ago – and_ a happier _time, at that. Sigh._

 _It's clear that Batman and Catwoman very soon will be together again and I've seen teasing that Batman will be back to working with parts of the batfamily in a few issues. Unfortunately, there is still no sign of the return of The Real Dick Grayson, and thus, DC will presumably not get a lot of my money. I cling to my hope he will be back with decent storylines, sooner rather than later!_

 _If anyone wonder where I put Bruce's age, because of the grandfather comment, I don't mind my Batman in his 40s. But Dick was thinking more about the fact that he has adult(ish) foster sons. I do however picture Bruce to be closing on 40. How else could he raise Dick since he was eight to adulthood, and manage to squeeze in several kids after that?_

 _How old Dick was when he came to live with Bruce was unclear in the beginning and has been changed up and down. But in Devin Grayson's writing, it is confirmed he was eight. I do have several issues with Devin Grayson's writing of Nightwing, but I'll buy eight… ;-)_

 _In the aftermath of_ Court _of Owls, there is a nice scene where Bruce tells Dick that he is saving him every day. Batman vol 2 # 11. Canon fluff!_

 _My take on the transition between Dick and Jason and Bruce and Dick fighting is basically the post-Crisis story. The short version is that Bruce fires Dick after he's been shot by the Joker, probably partly because he got scared and partly to forestall Dick abandoning him. Dick doesn't feel he has any option but to leave. Batman finds Jason trying to steal the tires of the Batmobile and soon takes him as his new Robin._

 _When Jason is killed, Dick doesn't know because he was away with the Titans and no-one bothered to inform him. When Dick comes to talk to him, Bruce floors him and tells him to leave and give the key to Alfred on his way out, and says he will never have a partner again._

 _No matter if they fight or have their disagreements, Dick is still a Batman fanboy. I have located panels where Dick has a Batman plushie, Batman underwear, and Batman poster in his dorm at university._ _As someone on Tumblr pointed out, he's also dragged Bruce to Bat-Burgers, so he's definitely enjoying the teasing part of this._

 _Funny enough, for all that he is also a confirmed Superman fanboy (as opposed to Jason being a Wonder Woman fanboy, which I have never seen confirmed in comics, unless you count the time Batman tells_ JasonRobin _to think clean thoughts when he looks after Diana), I've yet to find a panel of him with Superman merchandise._

 _(I'm happy to stand corrected both about Dick and Superman merc and Jason and WW if anyone has any tips!)_

 _You will also find a few panels about Dick's home styling – chaos or just plain empty._

 _The phrase "the goddamn Batman" is, as far as I know, originally from Frank Miller's_ All Star _Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder. I honestly don't like Miller's work, though Jim Lee's art is fine, so I usually wouldn't reference anything from him as ever having happened. But I think that phrase has become a common staple of the Bat-mythos. Like Sitka the elephant from Batman The Animated Series, for instance (she was called Eleanor in the original comics, but I've seen her named Zitka in later comics)._

 _Friendly reminder that I've put together three sets of panels on the theme Nightwing, son of Batman. One when Dick sees Bruce as his father, one when Bruce thinks of Dick as his son, or close to it; and one when other people think Bruce is Dick's father(ish). There are some new panels added since I first posted._

 _Lastly; Dick really thinks that Bruce would change his life in a heartbeat to get his parents back. At least in Gotham Knights # 14._ _And what do I know, perhaps he's right, and I should have written the story about when Bruce accepted the offer to go back as a child…_

 _Look for my illustrated footnotes: Tumblr_ com / blog _/ northoftheroad_


End file.
